SHUT UP AND DRIVE

I'm turning in to Deirdre Barlow from Coronation Street. The constant battles with my teenage daughters are to blame. The worry is killing me. To think that I used to be so fresh faced and full of life. Just a few years ago it was all blue skies, beaches and white teeth. Now it's cloudy skies, stormy waters and waterproof denture adhesive. 

Yesterday morning was ridiculous. Diva Teen walked towards the Stress-mobile wearing a bucket load of mascara that she must have applied with a masonry paint brush. It was like two black ravens had landed on her face. What should I do? Should I say something and risk a full blown rage before she even got into the Stress-mobile or say nothing at all and let it go? What do other mothers do? If I say nothing she'll soon end up going to school looking like Jodie Marsh.

"Are you wearing eye make up?" I asked, keeping it light and remembering what the experts say about picking your fights. (There are always at least ten things that I could moan about at any given time of the day). 

"NO", she replied, her eyelids almost stuck together with the weight of a tube of Urban Decay 'Big Fatty' Mascara. 

"You know that the school have a 'no make up' policy don't you?"

"I AM NOT WEARING MASCARA" then the one word order, "DRIVE".

Now, you put yourself in my shoes. Imagine that scenario. 

What was I to do? To take her inside and get her to remove the 'Big Fatty' in her own time would take a good fifteen minutes. I'd then be left with the other two children in the car and fighting would break out. It would be quicker to take the mascara off myself but I'd have to hold Diva Teen in a head lock or worse still, perform a body slam and power hose it off. Then a neighbour would hear her screaming, they'd phone the social workers and I'd end up being locked up for cruelty to teens. Was mascara really worth the fight? 

I decided to shut up and drive. It was the easiest option. I bit my tongue and drove her to school. The only hope that I was clinging onto was that her teachers wouldn't notice. Luckily, her form teacher is a very glamourous woman herself. A bit like Kate Bush. As it happens, she wears thick mascara too. 

After school I looked in her schoolbag. No letter home from teacher about the make up. I had got away with it. Got away with being a bad parent and not having the strength to discipline my daughter at 8.30am before the school run had even started. 

We went swimming later that afternoon. After five minutes in the pool and forty five minutes in the jacuzzi, Diva Teen got out. She got dressed and came out of the changing room. The 'Big Fatty' mascara was all over her face. 

"What are you looking at?" DIva Teen asked as she came storming towards me. 

"Are you sure you are not wearing mascara?" I asked. 

"I AM NOT WEARING MASCARA!" she screamed back at me. 

I did my best to smile and look like a normal mother as we left the pool.

The next morning, I woke up and looked in the mirror. Perhaps I had let myself go a bit. I've worn the same make up now for twenty years. Maybe if I take more interest in my own appearance and go for a natural, sun kissed look, I might steer my teenagers away from the caked and baked look. I headed into town and bought a new foundation, blusher and lip gloss. Once home, I spent ages applying the stuff in the hope that I might look ten years younger for the school pick up.  

Diva Teen got into the stress-mobile after school. She briefly glanced at me. 

"Well? What do you think? Do you like my new make up?" I had hoped that she'd remember this brief moment of mother daughter  bonding. Maybe we'd have a great chat about make up and beauty and do girlie stuff together from now on. Maybe she'd be happy to be seen with me now that I was making an effort. 

"You look like a drag queen" she replied, "now DRIVE". 

Does anyone have Dr Phil's phone number?