I always try to be as honest as I can when I write my blog. Sometimes this can be funny, and other times it can be heartbreakingly sad. Other times, like this one, it's just life...
Son number two came home yesterday from his seaside hovel. You'll remember that he is the last one to head off to uni, and he came home yesterday. Not just for a hot meal, not with dirty washing, not even with an outstretched hand for more money. No. He just came home for good.
It would appear that over the last nineteen years I have been treating him far too well, and he missed his home and family. It was a tough decision as he seemed to think I would be disappointed with him for not completing what he started. Disappointed? Don't tell him, but I'm secretly thrilled he's back home, but this has raised lots of questions. 'I know', I hear you all say, 'What's he going to do?' To be honest, I'm not worried about what he's going to do, as I know he'll do something, but what is worrying me is the possibility that he will never leave home, preferring to spend his days in the bosom of his family.
I mean, it's ok to live at home when you're nineteen, acceptable even when you are in your twenties, but any older than that and you're going into dangerous territory. I picture the husband and me in our eighties, sitting in front of Antiques Roadshow (probably fronted by Fern Cotton by then) while son number two wanders in asking, 'What's for tea mum?'
I am wondering whether he is suffering from separation anxiety like Reg does. Perhaps I need to start feeding him Reg's tablets and consider moving his bed nearer to the plug-in pheromone spray. Anything's worth a try I suppose, but I may need to seek medical advice if he starts chewing the carpet.
There are other options:
1. We could move while he's at work and not leave a forwarding address.
2. I could wrap his sandwiches in estate agent details of one bedroom flats.
3. I could stop cooking so that hunger forces him to look further afield for a home.
But for now, he stays, and it's my job to listen, support, love and cherish him, which is exactly what I am going to do. And maybe, just maybe, when his confidence is bolstered up again and he's feeling ready, he'll fly...
Further than the end of the drive this time I hope, and longer than two months...