Home cookin'...

After squatting on the first floor of my house for the past five weeks, son number two is leaving later this morning to head back up north, returning back to that famous seat of learning which is Leeds.

He's been preparing to go back home all week.  He calls it, 'getting his affairs in order', although I call it 'robbing mum blind'.  This is what he has been up to so far...

Hijacked my Tesco internet shop, thus increasing it by 75%. (In cost, rather than quantity thanks to the alcohol content)

Eating high carb food to fatten up for the decrease in temperature the further north he goes

Growing some facial fur (see above)

Offering to take me places in his car in the hope that I might offer to buy him a tank of fuel en route

Removing every item of clothing from his room, clean or otherwise so that it will be washed and ironed

Wearing his brother's clothes so that his clean ones remain washed and ironed 

Getting a haircut (naturally, this is much cheaper in the south...I don't think)

I'd sort of got used to having him around again, so I will miss him when he goes later.

However...

A student is a student, irrespective of whether they are in digs or back at home for Christmas, and he has been leading some strange twilight life over the last few weeks.  You know the kind of thing, coming in just as I am getting up for work and not waking up until almost the next day.  One thing remains the same though.  He assumes...nay EXPECTS...dinner on the table each evening, and it's taken some serious conversations with the husband to convince him that an evening meal is no longer a given.  It all depends what I am up to and more to the point, whether I can be bothered.

Kids don't seem to realise that when they go, life changes, and the husband and I have quite a giddy lifestyle now, and it doesn't always involve putting a plate of hot food on the table at 7.00 sharp.  Because of this, son number two has been mainly living on eggs and Quality Street, and I'm sure that he's only going home today because the tin is finally devoid of anything other than The Big Purple Ones.  These are the husband's favourites, but I've thrown the tin way on the quiet because I care about his waistline.

Once he's finally gone, I am sure that life will get back to normal, and the weight put on over Christmas will start to shift. (Two fat fingers crossed at this point).

One minute I'm going into the shower sideways to avoid lacerating my hips on the hinges, and then....all of a sudden...I'm having to run around in there to get wet.

That'll be the bloody day...