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ACourt - Stuff I Forgot to Tell My Daughter

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ACourt Stuff I Forgot to Tell My Daughter
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Adapted from the authors sell out solo standup show, this is a candid and very funny account of being the mother of a daughter, of how we are sometimes so busy parenting we forget how to be a person, and why learning how to store ginger is as important as knowing the history of feminism.

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HarperCollinsPublishers First published in 2015 by HarperCollinsPublishers - photo 1

HarperCollinsPublishers

First published in 2015

by HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited

Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

harpercollins.co.nz

Copyright Michle ACourt 2015

Michle ACourt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This work is copyright. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

HarperCollinsPublishers

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street, Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand

A 53, Sector 57, Noida, UP, India

1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF, United Kingdom

2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor, Toronto, Ontario M4W 1A8, Canada

195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007, USA

A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.

EPub Edition March 2015 ISBN 9781775490883

Cover and internal design by areadesign.co.nz

Front cover photograph by Jane Ussher

For Holly, of course.

And for Ariana-Rose.

In early 2012 my daughter, Holly, got a job and went flatting. She didnt move to Syria or anything just another suburb in our city about 15 minutes drive away.

Holly and I have always adored each other. For a while, when she was little, it was just the two of us, and weve remained a pretty tight unit ever since. But by the time she reached 18, I think we were both sick of hearing me say What time do you call this?, and neither of us believed me any more when I pulled out the previously infallible Because I said so. Plus, there are things an 18-year-old wants to experiment with that a mother doesnt need to witness first-hand purple eyeshadow, navel studs and lace hot-pants among them.

Keen to get on with my life as she put it, she left Unitech, found a job and moved in with a bunch of her friends. Remarkably, I didnt suffer the empty-nest syndrome angst that apparently smacks other parents in the head when their only child leaves home. Like I say, it felt like time, and I was excited to see her make her own way in the world and hear her stories (My boss is an idiot!, My flatmates are dicks!) when we met for lunch a couple of times a week.

I finally got her room as clean and tidy as Id been asking her to make it for several years, and was delighted to discover that it really is possible to properly get rid of the smell of sock and armpit. It is one of lifes great truths that the perfect kids room the one that looks delicious and inviting, ready for a photo-shoot, just like a bought one is the kids room that doesnt actually have a kid living in it.

And suddenly liberated from 24/7 motherhood, with a lot less cooking, cleaning, washing and taxi-driving to do and fewer questions to answer I was able to enjoy a proper thought process for the first time in 18 years. Mostly, I spent the initial couple of months wandering around the house thinking Oh, my God, did I tell her everything she needs to know? Did I explain how to store ginger? Can she do hospital corners? Did we ever talk about feminism?

Because of my job as a comedian and a writer, I get invited to speak at school and university graduations, where I tell other peoples kids all kinds of wise and important things about work and life and relationships. Id go and do that, and then Id come home and tell my daughter to hold her fork properly. So I started making a list. A list of all the things I had forgotten to tell my daughter. Because often were so busy telling our kids to sit up straight and do their homework that we forget to talk to them about the Big Things social activism, finding your tribe, the power of youth. And okay, yes, also the Small Things, like not touching your eye when youve just sprinkled something with cayenne pepper.

That list of stuff I forgot to tell my daughter became a one-hour comedy show at the NZ International Comedy Festival in 2013. Wisdom wrapped up in jokes. People came, and it resonated with them. Often mothers brought their daughters, and sometimes fathers brought their sons. Afterwards, parents would thank me for saying out loud the things they had either forgotten to say, or couldnt find the words for. Standing beside them, the kids would look relieved that someone other than their actual mums had introduced them to the concept of middle-aged people having sex.

And people suggested more things that we all might have forgotten to tell our daughters. The list kept getting longer. Until it turned into this book. If you are a mother, my hope is that this book says some of the things you havent found words for, or reminds you of things you forgot to say. I like to think it will inspire conversations between the two of you.

If you are a daughter, and your mum has left this on your bedside table, I like to think of you reading it and then getting back to her to ask supplementary questions. Try to wrap your head around the idea that your mother once felt a lot like you do now. (See Chapter 4, .) Mothers are much smarter than we assume they are when we are young and sometimes ticked off with the world.

Or if you found the book all by yourself: good work, well done. I am hoping that, once youve finished reading it, you will give your mother a hug and tell her she is freaking awesome. Mothers adore those random acts of love though they can also throw them a bit and make them nervous. Which daughters quite like. So thats a win-win.

And if you are a father or son: welcome! I am thrilled to have you here. Sometimes when I have written she or her, you will need to substitute that in your head with he and him so you feel included. Dont worry: ladies have to do that all the time when they read books or listen to songs or hear daft old buggers talk. Its a bit tiring, but you get used to it.

CONTENTS
Guide

So yes, back in 2012 my daughter went flatting for the first time. I think we can all imagine what that looked like. Staying up late, sleeping in, eating what you like when you like, riotous parties, wild sex... I had no idea what she was doing, but I was loving it.

There is a reason for this sudden rush of energy. Once the kids are gone, you realise that the properly exhausting thing about parenting is that you have to know everything, all the time. They ask endless questions, kids, and you need to be able to answer all those questions, because, if you cant, you lose your authority and they wont eat their broccoli.

THEY ASK ENDLESS QUESTIONS, KIDS, AND YOU NEED TO BE ABLE TO ANSWER ALL THOSE QUESTIONS, BECAUSE, IF YOU CANT, YOU LOSE YOUR AUTHORITY AND THEY WONT EAT THEIR BROCCOLI.

I remember when Holly was about three years old and she asked, Mummy, why is the sky blue?

Well, sweetheart, I said, light is made up of all the colours in the rainbow from red right through the colour spectrum to blue. The red light-waves are short, so they pass through the gaseous particles in the atmosphere. But the blue light-waves are long, so they bounce off the gaseous particles or refract and bend back towards the Earth, where our eyes pick them up. So really, the sky is made up of all the colours of the rainbow, but we can only see the blue. Eat your broccoli.

Obviously, youve all had that same conversation with your kids at some point, so Im not telling you anything you dont already know. But as they get older, they start asking you questions that you dont know the answer to, so obviously you have to start making stuff up or, as I say, you lose your authority and they wont eat their broccoli.

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