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The tunnel of love...

Words from a Bird.  Day 98

I am counting down the days....

Don't get me wrong, I love all of my children, and the last four days have been great now that son number one has taken over the job of 'cooking a well planned, healthy meal for the rest of the family, when all you really want to do is have a large glass of wine and watch TV'.  It's been lovely not having to come up with ideas for something different each morning...almost a relief.

So there is light at the end of the tunnel, and that light is called Friday, as this is the day that son number 1 and daughter number 2's holidays come to an end, and they vacate the premises.  As that day draws nearer, I have realised that neither of them have put much thought into their washing and ironing situation.

Son number 1 gave me all his washing and ironing when he first arrived.  This was all back on the hangers within 24 hours ( just call me Supermum) so he had a good choice of clothing throughout the week.  Unfortunately, he hasn't twigged on that all that good work is undone, and he is back to where he started, with a linen basket full of dirty washing.  Of course, I realised this on Tuesday, but I've said nothing, leaving it till Thursday morning to make this announcement, as there will be nowhere near enough time to turn it all around again before he leaves on Friday (My Supermum capabilities can be sporadic at best).  I'll be at work by the time he reads this, so maybe he'll put it on himself....hint hint....

Daughter number 2 approaches her washing in a rather different way.  The last clothes I washed for her were over almost two weeks ago, when she returned from skiing.  These are still hanging up on my ironing rail, untouched.  She would appear to have lived in a pair of tracksuit bottoms, a bobble hat and her dressing gown for the last ten days, thus ensuring that there is minimal washing to do on her return to university at the weekend.  Clever girl...

However, the one that worries me most is son number 2. He lives at home, and yet I have had nothing from him since he broke up from school.  Bracing myself to open his bedroom door yesterday, it would appear that every item of clothing he owns (clean and dirty) is on the floor.  I have a bad feeling about this, as I know that on Sunday afternoon, just as I am sitting down with my book, he will appear, carrying the clothes equivalent of the Isle of Wight, wanting it washed and ironed.  I may refuse on the grounds that it is my day off.  Ladies of the world are united in laughter at this last comment....when does a mum ever get a day off?

I think that the nearest I have had to a day off recently was when I went to stay with my mum a couple of months ago to recover from my broken rib. 

I wonder if she'd offer the same level of care for someone with ironer's elbow?

It's worth a try...





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