BEING the mother of teenage boys isn't easy. At my lowest points I have to remind myself there would be something drastically wrong with my parenting skills if they viewed me as a best mate.

But there are times when it would be nice just to be treated like a fellow human being. When we are out in public, the simple fact that I exist at all is an utter embarrassment to them.

Last week I had to attend a meeting for parents and third year pupils about GCSE options at our 13-year-old's school. Charlie walked into the hall a few paces behind, just enough to appear as if he wasn't with me.

I was on my best behaviour. I didn't wave to other parents or speak to anyone near me. I didn't show the slightest interest in any of Charlie's friends. I didn't even ask any questions.

I just sat there quietly with my hands on my lap and listened intently to the speakers.

After about half an hour, Charlie leaned across and whispered angrily in my ear: "Mum, will you stop breathing so weirdly. You're really embarrassing me."

As if that wasn't bad enough, next day I got accused of being "sad", "desperate" and even "gay" by my 15-year-old. The reason? When he announced he was staying over at a party with his mates on Friday night I asked for the parents' phone number so I could call them beforehand.

"Oh Mum. You're not going to turn into one of those parents, are you?" he scowled.

"One of what parents?"

"Parents who interfere," he snapped.

"Parents who care, you mean," I retorted.

"Parents who care too much," was his sharp response.

Given that the police were called to the last house party he went to after complaints about noise, one girl was rushed to hospital after falling through a window, a large number of 14-year-olds got drunk and we found out afterwards that the parents had gone out for the evening and left them all to it, I didn't think it was unreasonable to call.

Since William has a serious food allergy, I had a perfectly good excuse. The mother was lovely and was glad I'd called to warn her about the food allergy, adding that she and her husband were supervising the whole event.

When I asked if it was OK for William to stay overnight she said she would rather everyone was picked up by midnight, unless it was very difficult to get home.

When I told William he was furious. "I am going to look like a real loser when you turn up," he scowled. "Perhaps if I arrived shrouded in a blanket and bundle you out, under cover of darkness, by a back exit," I joked. He wasn't amused.

He was even more furious when a few other parents heard I was picking him up at midnight and asked if I could bring their children home too.

"Everybody in my class hates you now," he said. "You are ruining everyone's Friday night." At least he hasn't accused me of ruining his life - yet.

It doesn't seem that long ago that he used to run out of parties and leap up into my arms to give me a kiss, sometimes even pointing and announcing proudly to his friends: "That's my Mum."

When they were infants, he and the other older boys were so openly affectionate and loving towards me. They hung onto my every word, looked up to me, adored me and assumed I knew the answer to everything.

I still get it from their younger brothers. To them, most of the time at least, I'm the best thing since C-Beebies. To the older boys, though, I've morphed into the wicked witch of the West who hasn't got a clue about life. All this and I breathe weirdly too...

TALKING of teenage boys, some mornings ours waft past on their way out the door reeking of increasingly powerful deodorants, hair gels and other smelly stuff which make my nose tingle. Many of their friends smell the same. I'm sure it's a stage they're going through, but it must be awful for teachers stuck in a class full of adolescents (pardon the pun) as the girls' cheap, sweet perfumes mingle with the boys' overpowering aftershaves. Do lots of teachers breathe weirdly too, I wonder?

AFTER years of letting our cat Hermione in and out through the back door we have, at last, had a cat flap fitted. Perhaps it's the four-year-old repeatedly urging her to "use the flapjack" which confuses her, but Hermione won't use it. We have tried everything, gently guiding her through it, providing treats at the other end, refusing to open the door - nothing works. I would be grateful for any ideas...