Once I had got over the strangeness of having an empty nest, first when my son James went to university, and later when Bobbie moved down to Plymouth for her studies, I really enjoyed the freedom from responsibility and the privacy; on both occasions I started to think about myself as an individual again, even though things were rather different the second time around because, by that time, I had a lovely husband to consider. But modern husbands (mine, at least) are very self-contained and can do everything around the house quite as well as I do; he doesn’t actually need me in that sense, and although I tend to do most of the cooking, I don’t have to put a meal on the table by six o’clock if I am caught up with work. Chris is happy to step in, doing household chores of any description, even ironing. Chris likes ironing. I know I am lucky (as everyone tells me). I used to like ironing – it used to be a labour of love. Nowadays the roles are not so clear. Sometimes I miss feeling needed, not that I want to be a slave to housework…
This week my young nephew, James (named after my James), has been staying with Chris and me. It has been a school week so we haven’t seen that much of him, but enough to make a difference to the running of the house and our lives.
Last night, without too much protesting from James, and quite a lot of coaxing from me, I trimmed his hair – two millimetres – and he looked so much more handsome. After his shower he came back downstairs for several games of “Rummikub” (which he is very good at). I love the fact that, like me, he enjoys playing games more than watching television – we played games all week. This morning Chris came in with my tea a little later than usual and, upon waking, my first thoughts went straight to James because I knew he would be wondering when his clothes would appear (after a recent mishap with tomato soup they were all in the wash – I had put them in the machine and hung them out, and Chris ironed them). I made him scrambled eggs on toast for breakfast and while he ate, Chris and I stressed the importance of knowing one’s tables (even if one is a genius). We also pointed out the benefits of straightening up and pulling one’s shoulders back, and he did his best for two minutes. I helped him with his tie and brushed his hair (he winced but accepted it out of politeness), and I found him his dinner money before seeing him off at the front door.
“He is a well-mannered boy,” Chris said with approval.
“Very much so, and no trouble at all,” I agreed.
“James is quite bright, isn’t he? I noticed he was as sharp as a pin at playing “Rummikub”, added Chris.
“It isn’t the children’s fault that teachers don’t teach the twelve times tables any more. I’ll print out a sheet for him to take home. Oh, by the way, thanks for ironing his clothes.”
“No problem. He didn’t wear his coat – and it’s going to rain,” answered Chris.
“We had better meet him if it’s raining when he comes out from school,” I said.
Chris laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re a proper little mother again!”
“Really? Do you think so?” I laughed too.
I did not tell Chris that he had been behaving similarly. He might not think it is very macho. I still think it is cute that he ironed James’ school clothes.
James is going back to his house tonight and this nest will be empty again. I think I’ll keep the sheets on his bed for a few days, just in case he wants to come back…