Burning down the house...
So you'll all be pleased to hear that the husband is still alive and kicking after his comments on Monday. I am especially glad, as he is driving me to Wales at the weekend for a week in a friend's cottage, and I don't know the way...so he does have his uses on occasions.
It's funny how things change as you get older. When the children were younger, I used to worry the minute they set foot outside the front door, convinced that something terrible would happen to them the minute I wasn't looking. Of course it didn't, but I suppose it's part of my job description as 'mum' (this also includes counsellor, taxi driver, laundry maid, chef, supplier of thick skin and broad shoulders and banker, so I suppose neurotic paranoia is just an added bonus).
It's different now though. When we are away, I would rather they weren't here either - I like daughter number two's approach of going to Asia (still no idea where) for a month. At least I know her room won't look any worse by the time I get back (this would take some doing actually - although Semtex might just swing it).
The other three are very keen to know when we are going, and when we'll be back, which automatically gets my suspicion radar on full alert. I did think about lying to keep them on their toes, but the husband, ever the trusting soul, had blabbed, and has probably even written it down somewhere for them.
But what's the worse that could happen, I hear you ask. Well, for a start, if they are here, they will be eating and drinking. This will mean that on our return, there won't be a single glass in the cupboard, and the dishwasher will remain untouched, its contents gently festering waiting for my return. There will also be food which has been bought, started and abandoned. This could be located anywhere - bedrooms, fridge, oven, barbecue, sofa, and again will have reached epic proportions of green furry growth within the week (probably accelerated by the fact that the heating will be blasting out on full for the whole week also...)
Lady H (she of the multiple cleaning products and fancy vacuum) is heading back here while we're away, to do my upstairs. I am slightly worried what she'll find as she puts the key in the front door. I have visions of her turning the key, and the door falling flat as the rest of the house crumbles around her (think Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin etc). The only evidence that life once thrived there the remains of a takeaway curry, empty beer bottles and some party poppers....
Maybe I'll change the locks. I'm all for peace of mind...
It's funny how things change as you get older. When the children were younger, I used to worry the minute they set foot outside the front door, convinced that something terrible would happen to them the minute I wasn't looking. Of course it didn't, but I suppose it's part of my job description as 'mum' (this also includes counsellor, taxi driver, laundry maid, chef, supplier of thick skin and broad shoulders and banker, so I suppose neurotic paranoia is just an added bonus).
It's different now though. When we are away, I would rather they weren't here either - I like daughter number two's approach of going to Asia (still no idea where) for a month. At least I know her room won't look any worse by the time I get back (this would take some doing actually - although Semtex might just swing it).
The other three are very keen to know when we are going, and when we'll be back, which automatically gets my suspicion radar on full alert. I did think about lying to keep them on their toes, but the husband, ever the trusting soul, had blabbed, and has probably even written it down somewhere for them.
But what's the worse that could happen, I hear you ask. Well, for a start, if they are here, they will be eating and drinking. This will mean that on our return, there won't be a single glass in the cupboard, and the dishwasher will remain untouched, its contents gently festering waiting for my return. There will also be food which has been bought, started and abandoned. This could be located anywhere - bedrooms, fridge, oven, barbecue, sofa, and again will have reached epic proportions of green furry growth within the week (probably accelerated by the fact that the heating will be blasting out on full for the whole week also...)
Lady H (she of the multiple cleaning products and fancy vacuum) is heading back here while we're away, to do my upstairs. I am slightly worried what she'll find as she puts the key in the front door. I have visions of her turning the key, and the door falling flat as the rest of the house crumbles around her (think Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin etc). The only evidence that life once thrived there the remains of a takeaway curry, empty beer bottles and some party poppers....
Maybe I'll change the locks. I'm all for peace of mind...
Comments