You can keep your hat on...
Daughter number two returns home to the bosom of her family later today.
In preparation of her long anticipated return, before heading off to Binland yesterday, I schlepped up to her bedroom (previously the dogs' bedroom, more recently daughter number one's when the dogs fancy a bit of company) and changed the bed linen. I also put clean towels in and gave her bathroom a quick once over. I checked the freezer to make sure we had that revolting gluten free bread which she insists on (except when she'd had too much to drink, as she will eat anything at that point, gluten free or not) and I made space on the dressing table for all the electrical paraphernalia she uses for her hair. So to be honest, short of preparing a fattened calf, everything was in place for her return. All this before leaving for work at 8.00. No wonder I always look like I've been run over...
It's strange having adult children coming back to the house. Part of you wants to treat them as if they are still kids, such as treating them to a takeaway, or cuddling up on the sofa. The other part of you recognises that they will now view home through critical adult eyes. Hence the clean sheets and sweet smelling loo. It worries me that when she heads off back home on Sunday and her flatmate asks her whether she had a good time with 'the rents' as we are known, she'll say, 'It was great to see them, but my goodness, you should have seen the state of the shower'.
So I am doing a Hyacinth Bucket, and 'keeping up appearances'. Luckily enough Lady H (she with the duster and an eye for detail) was here yesterday, so the house looked stunning (except for the bald patches on the stairs which even Lady H's magic wand can't remove). If I make it lovely every time they come back home, they might just keep up with the visits. Having said that, there may come a time when I've had enough of them letting themselves in and sprawling on my sofas. That will be the point we move house without telling any of them where we've gone.
Too harsh? Perhaps...
Joking apart, I am really looking forward to having them all here for the family party this weekend. Not only do we have our four at home, we have the LSB, fresh from the invigorating world of insurance, and ELL, son number two's best-friend-turned-girlfriend, and we also have Mr Ed, a friend of son number one's here. On the night, it will be a frenzy of hairdryers and cufflinks, ties and tights and I'll probably be doing my best Mother Hen impression, running after them and sorting them all out, and then realise seven minutes before we leave that I resemble Aunt Sally and require a miracle.
Speaking of son number one, he is still rather incapacitated with his dislocated thumb (or a 'hurty finger' as son number two calls it very bravely when son number one is not in the house). The bandage is the size of a rugby ball (fittingly) and I'm not too sure how I am going to get his Elephant Man-like appendage down a shirt sleeve. I may have to buy him one of those shirts which male strippers wear with the Velcro fastenings. We'll be alright unless the DJ plays 'You can Keep Your Hat On', at which point he'll probably rip the shirt off in front of the party guests and start gyrating on the dance floor.
I know one person who would be rather thrilled to see this.
You know who you are...
In preparation of her long anticipated return, before heading off to Binland yesterday, I schlepped up to her bedroom (previously the dogs' bedroom, more recently daughter number one's when the dogs fancy a bit of company) and changed the bed linen. I also put clean towels in and gave her bathroom a quick once over. I checked the freezer to make sure we had that revolting gluten free bread which she insists on (except when she'd had too much to drink, as she will eat anything at that point, gluten free or not) and I made space on the dressing table for all the electrical paraphernalia she uses for her hair. So to be honest, short of preparing a fattened calf, everything was in place for her return. All this before leaving for work at 8.00. No wonder I always look like I've been run over...
It's strange having adult children coming back to the house. Part of you wants to treat them as if they are still kids, such as treating them to a takeaway, or cuddling up on the sofa. The other part of you recognises that they will now view home through critical adult eyes. Hence the clean sheets and sweet smelling loo. It worries me that when she heads off back home on Sunday and her flatmate asks her whether she had a good time with 'the rents' as we are known, she'll say, 'It was great to see them, but my goodness, you should have seen the state of the shower'.
So I am doing a Hyacinth Bucket, and 'keeping up appearances'. Luckily enough Lady H (she with the duster and an eye for detail) was here yesterday, so the house looked stunning (except for the bald patches on the stairs which even Lady H's magic wand can't remove). If I make it lovely every time they come back home, they might just keep up with the visits. Having said that, there may come a time when I've had enough of them letting themselves in and sprawling on my sofas. That will be the point we move house without telling any of them where we've gone.
Too harsh? Perhaps...
Joking apart, I am really looking forward to having them all here for the family party this weekend. Not only do we have our four at home, we have the LSB, fresh from the invigorating world of insurance, and ELL, son number two's best-friend-turned-girlfriend, and we also have Mr Ed, a friend of son number one's here. On the night, it will be a frenzy of hairdryers and cufflinks, ties and tights and I'll probably be doing my best Mother Hen impression, running after them and sorting them all out, and then realise seven minutes before we leave that I resemble Aunt Sally and require a miracle.
Speaking of son number one, he is still rather incapacitated with his dislocated thumb (or a 'hurty finger' as son number two calls it very bravely when son number one is not in the house). The bandage is the size of a rugby ball (fittingly) and I'm not too sure how I am going to get his Elephant Man-like appendage down a shirt sleeve. I may have to buy him one of those shirts which male strippers wear with the Velcro fastenings. We'll be alright unless the DJ plays 'You can Keep Your Hat On', at which point he'll probably rip the shirt off in front of the party guests and start gyrating on the dance floor.
I know one person who would be rather thrilled to see this.
You know who you are...
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