Home alone

Me and the Not So Small Son have been left home alone this week as Mr. H has departed on a painting holiday. Not that he has discovered his inner artist, he’s gone to help a friend paint a house. But as he left with a spring in his step and a car boot full of beer (gluten free of course), I think escaping the wife and child for a week counts as a holiday.

The NSSS loves being the man of the house. He got ahead of himself last night by sawing up a fallen tree and stockpiling logs (all my kids spent far too much time reading and re-reading Little House On The Prairie), just in case we get snowed in this week.

My ability to remain in charge and assert my authority should prove interesting. The NSSS is at that age where all women are inferior and mothers are beyond contempt.

I witnessed this on Saturday when I dutifully turned up to collect him from his week long school trip to Italy. As my baby boy got off the coach, I had one of those maternal love waves where you think to yourself, “How on earth did I create something so handsome. And enormous? I love him sooo much.” He in turn, spun round, spotted me, glared at me and looked embarrassed before turning on his heel and hiding among his crowd of friends. Ho hum.

Mr. H has helped to stack the control odds in my favour however by leaving the NSSS about half a ton of clay to shovel up and wheelbarrow uphill to the designated dumping spot in the field. A tired teenager is a trouble free teenager in my book. And a hungry teenager who has done a morning’s hard labour is much more appreciative of his mother when she plies him with lobster bisque for lunch. Followed by chorizo risotto and home-made apple compote. Cleaning out the fridge and discovering the (very gourmet) tin of lobster bisque at the back of the cupboard more than paid off. I am currently Mother of the Year and the NSSS is shovelling like a demon.

For now I have established my superior status; I just need to make sure I can hang onto it until the boss gets home.


Ha ha… love this tale… been through similar with our daughter… (what parent hasn’t??)… I tried to comfort myself by recalling what a delightful youngster she had been… and assuring myself that she was still “in there”… somewhere… (fingers crossed).

Anyway… yes, the changeling finally left us and our wonderful daughter returned… :grinning:

Life is great, especially now she is a Mum herself and realises what we go through… :wink:

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Oh yes - they get there eventually! X

Stella, glad you have your daughter back. I have just been to see our younger daughter in UK. When she was young we used to tell her not to provoke and our elder daughter not to be so sensitive. Unfortunately she is still provoking and, of course, it is all my fault.
Fortunately the rest of the family understand, but it is very painful.

Sorry to hear that Jane. I think it is always hard when you live in different countries because it makes the visiting so much more intense. Everyone wants it to be perfect but it never is!
I have the same thing with my parents but at least it is only UK / France so a week or so is normally ok. When they go to see my brother in Australia, it all gets much more emotionally charged! Xx

We skype regularly… (grandson was not much good on the phone)… but now we all see each other…and the reactions to every joke etc… and the fun is magical…
Plus our daughter can see that we are, indeed, still alive and well.

My exit is when my chair starts rolling into the wardrobe… (old, sloping floors)… happened once by accident and now it just has to be done…:laughing:

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Catherine, it would always be difficult as she lived over four hours from us in UK. Also they do not have a house big enough for us to stay, so it was B & B for us.
No problem with the other daughter thankfully.

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Me too for the next week or so, just got back from dropping better half off at Limoges airport to spend some time before new grandchild is due next month.
Beer and chips for me every night then!:beer::beer::beer::beer:

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Do you watch “The Durrels?” - Your life sounds similar. :slight_smile:

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