It was my birthday this week so I decided that it would be a fantastic idea to get everyone going to the Roller Disco in London.
For anyone who doesn't know what this is, it's basically a night club where everyone wears roller boots. So last night off we went to this amazing place with a circular ring in the centre to skate round.
As it was my birthday, I got sparkly skates with wheels that flashed different colours when you move, very cool!
So skates on it was time to stand up and show everyone what I could do, now you would think that as a girl who lived in roller boots as a child and hardly ever left without them on my feet that I would still be able to skate pretty well, wouldn't you??
Wrong! I was absolutely terrible!
What's worse, my husband and everyone else didn't seem to be afflicted with "Olive Oil Syndrome" like me. In fact everyone else seemed to skate away like they do it every day.
So after falling over a few times I decided that roller skating is a skill that I lost at the time I cut my hair short and stopped my mother putting me in flowery dresses!
And I have now put it in the box of other childhood loves that I am useless at as an adult.
Nevertheless, it was a very good night and I thoroughly enjoyed myself despite spending some of it sat on the floor looking up at the people who could actually skate.
I would definitely recommend it as a fun and interesting night out.
Sometimes I wonder which of us is the parent and which is the child.
My eldest son came to me last weekend and informed me that we were having a party for his birthday and had already invited some people, and needed me to let him know what food we were going to have.
Now, is it just me, or is there something slightly wrong with the balance of power here?
Especially as I now find myself having to prepare the house, food, drink, decorations, etc for a party I don't remember being consulted on, but then why should I be consulted? I'm only the mother, the one who looks after him and makes sure he's OK, nothing important really.
So I find myself wondering if I am the parent or if in some weird twist of fate, I've become the child and he's the parent making all the decisions. And if this is the case, when did the power balance shift, because I don't remember giving it permission to change the rules?
When was it my son grew up, was there a particular date and time where the minutes and seconds were counted down until he became a grown up and suddenly able to make decisions all by himself, and why does he need to grow up anyway?
Although, I can see him objecting very strongly to me trying to wrap him in a blanket and push him in a pram at 15 years old.
So, I will have to accept that my fate is now the observer as I watch him go through his life making his own mistakes more and more.
I seemed to have blinked and my fat, chubby cheeked baby has turned into a tall, dark skinned youth with big dark eyes and an uncanny resemblance to my dad.
Whatever happens in his life, I am very proud of him.
Happy 15th Birthday son, xxx