I heard this thing today on the radio about how you know you’ve truly become a parent when you start making friends with your kids’ friends. You even might wanna hang out with them more than you do with your own friends. This made me chuckle. I’m guilty. 100%.
I really do feel like my kids’ friends are my friends. I get involved with them on a friendship level. Does this make me an annoying parent? I’ll let my kids answer that one. There’s also this new thing in our neighbourhood where kids call anything suspicious ‘paedo!’ Great.
Inter-generational friendship (the platonic kind) runs in my family though. It started like this: my mum and her twin sister Ela didn’t have too many friends as children. This family fact is explained by them being identical twins, which makes them slightly strange. In these moments I like to imagine them on some old-fashioned African funeral payer, killed because they’re identical twins. It brings me a cheap laugh frankly.
It’s also true they didn’t have too many friends growing up because they didn’t need them. They were best friends with each other. They still are. They did have a few who slipped through the net – the most notable being their friend Anna Mooney. Anna Mooney is their friend from years ago and she loves one twin as much as she loves the other. But probably not as much as she loves their mother, my grandmother. You know, the toddler, a.k.a. heart electrics lady. Now thief of Welsh heather.
Both Anna Mooney and my grandmother primarily reside in Warsaw in Poland. Eventually, they cut out the generation of the twins living in London out and became friends with each other. Their friendship is still alive and healthy. Anna Mooney just visited them in London. Apparently, her favourite places to go were divided between Portobello Road and Home Bargains. I wonder if she went home with her suitcase full of antiques and cleaning solutions.
I think it’s fair to say I am friends with Polly Pocket, Delph’s bestie. We write to each other to discuss stuff – mostly about when she’s coming round – and as were going back to Oakwood theme park – yippee!! – Pocket sent seating arrangements for the rides between her, Delphine and their friend, Yazmin. My first temptation looking at Pocket’s message was how a 12-year-old could be such a control freak. I almost texted her this comment and then realised it was more a comment for adults. I didn’t want her to get offended… or call me a paedo. Go friendship! I texted ‘perfect’ back instead. And stepped back.