My son the Mountain Man  at  6am this morning; off for a two-day hike as part of his Duke of Edinburgh Bronze Award.

Bye Josh! Bye $800 worth of state-of-the-art wilderness essentials! Back to basics survival kit doesn't come cheap.

He was very excited. I waved him off then made a
macchiato to relax on the lounge in the early morning sun. Motherhood OCD got the better of me so I checked his room. And of course, spied his waterproof jacket with compass, torch, safety whistle and emergency Mars Bar attached. Thought: "Is today the day for lessons about consequences?" Decided "not today" and in pyjamas raced to the car.  

I bolted up to the school with jacket. I was wary, because teenagers don't like their peers to know they talk to their parents. So I pulled up near his group of  louts and honked. Tried to blend in, acted nonchalant then hollered "Yo, Dude!" until he could ignore me no longer. 

"Death stare me all you like, you forgot this," I said as I tossed him his coat while burning rubber so his all friends would know how awesome I am. Some people are too cool to visibly sob with grateful relief; but a mother senses these things. 

I was off with a screech of tyres and Backstreet Boys Greatest Hits full blast! I could see all the other kids looking -- yeah, you know I invented cool? And I'm pretty sure they were all wishing that they had a Momma who was so Dawg like me.

I am a hoarder. So liberating to say that out loud!  I wasn't always a hoarder; prior to the blessing of motherhood I used to be very houseproud. My flat looked like no-one lived there. Or, more correctly, like someone with severe OCD lived there and was away on holidays. I don't say that flippantly -- every cushion was placed at a precise angle; I paid a weekly cleaner as well as cleaning it again myself (properly); CDs and books were stored alphabetically, by genre except for non-fiction which (of course) was filed using the Dewey Decimal system.

When my son arrived, people told me I had to "loosen up" and learn to share my space. So I haven't dusted for 14 years.

Last week my sisters staged an intervention. When they had to walk down the hallway sideways, I admitted I may have been in denial. When every time a drawer was opened it contained at least 3 VGA monitor cables; 40 empty biros and rubber bands knotted together around blutack, I started to feel some pangs of shame. 

The apocalypse began. "Hold on, does the yellow dot mean I can keep it?" I asked innocently, poor misguided fool. "Sure" my sisters lied as the skip backed into my driveway. "Not those size 8 stone-washed jeans!" I yelled to no-one who cared that one day I might fit into them and at the same time they might become fashionable. "Yes, actually I do want those videotapes. They are backups of the DVD backups of the digital backups on my media server."

Doorbell - omg - hide, don't answer it! Too late, someone let the pest control man in.  He tried to disguise the horror on his face and failed. "I just need to get into the kitchen and bathroom" he said, eyeing a steaming puddle of something oozing from under some cardboard cartons. He manned up and walked towards me saying: "I'll just be a few minutes, would you like me to take my boots off before I come in?" Oh, very droll. Tradesman humour is it? Well you'll be laughing out the other side of your face when you realise you'll need the HazMat Team to shower you tonight buddy.

Twelve hours later, my sisters left with dire threats about what would happen in the event anything from the skip made it back inside. Next morning, I found ... I couldn't stop cleaning! And not for me the Spray-N-Wipe - no: I went for industrial strength sugar soap (do not try this at home). I looked at my uni essays from 1986 and turfed them, feeling no emotion whatsoever. At 8pm that night I drove to Kmart to buy fresh new homewares such as colour co-ordinated toilet brush and toothbrush holder.

I am indeed a changed woman, and I feel so happy. I am zen-like, but with a chux always at the ready. Unfortunately the next day I awoke with the worst case of conjunctivitis stink-eye I have ever had. Probably caught it in Kmart from some filthy hoarder who doesn't share my scrupulous hygiene standards. And wouldn't you know: last week I *used* to have a pirate eyepatch stored for just such an emergency. Just saying.

Seriously, aren't there some things that don't need to be said?

I believe that are some things in life which go without saying. Some things, either by common sense, basic decency or community & social norms are just accepted.  We teach these to our children when they are little, then we never mention them again.  They are ingrained.  They are "a given".  I'm talking about things like:

• don't put your hand in a fire
  
• try not to visibly laugh when someone falls over -- go and help them
  

• be kind to your parents

Et cetera. So you can imagine my surprise when visiting the Ladies' Toilets at my new office location to see this sign: