As son number two is away at the moment (if you'll remember, he is somewhere hot with daughter number two, but I'm not bitter), I thought it might be an idea to tackle his bedroom while he wasn't around to shout absurdities like 'Put that down', or 'That's definitely not going in the bin', or, my personal favourite, 'I love that so much'. The last statement is usually reserved for a certain game which we played when he was much smaller. It involved four snails, a dice and a load of my 2p coins if I remember rightly. His habitual winning might be why he can now afford to holiday in Tenerife, while I can just about manage a few days in a shed by the sea. Anyway, needless to say, the snail game is safe and will remain on his shelf until a future generation can fleece him. What goes around, comes around, and all that.
So back to the bedroom. I have mentioned the dust bunnies which seem to live in corners and on window sills before. These are tiny powder puffs of dust which scuttle across any flat surface when a door opens. I opened the door and braced myself for the dust bunnies to jump out from the corners. At first glance, I thought it didn't look too bad, but then I remembered that he had taken most of his clothes with him, which explained why they weren't hanging in their normal place...the floor. So I spent most of yesterday afternoon dusting and just generally sorting out the stuff into three piles:
Very important stuff (parking ticket, P45, tax code)
Stuff which needs a home (Old A'Level text books, pens, a torch, Valentine's cards)
Crap (receipts, sweet wrappers, carrier bags, bits of forgotten food, pen lids etc)
Having done this and reduced the piles to two, sweeping pile three into a bin bag, I then headed over to his bookcase which houses everything which keeps his handsome looks at their best (I'm his mum, I am biased for heaven's sake). Lining up all the hair paraphernalia, there were three cans of hairspray (two empty), tins of hair gum and hair wax (all empty bar one, which had dried out into a solid lump), brushes and combs (remember these are surplus, as he already has his brushes and combs with him), a hairdryer (see brushes) and a set of hair straighteners (again, see brushes).
He had thirty six bottles of different aftershaves, some of which I'd heard of, but there were a couple there which I didn't know. Squirting a little out, I decided that they would be better off as loo cleaner, as the fumes nearly wiped my eye brows out. I didn't dare throw any of the aftershaves out, but neatly lined them up in ascending size (damn you OCD).
But the best bit? His bed is broken. I have managed to mend it using a strategically placed piece of wood which I found behind his bedside table. As long as he does wriggle about too much, this should hold until the husband gets round to mending it properly. You'll remember that the husband has a 'back burner' where jobs such as this go. I envisage that the bed will remain broken until long after son number two leaves for university.
In fact, it's not looking likely that it will be done when he returns three years later...