I usually get excited about Easter. It is like a mini Christmas without the presents. It is a time when all of the Family get together under one roof for a few days, we tacitly agree not to wind each other up, and we enjoy nice food and good company. The problem is everyone is still here.
Don’t get me wrong, I do dearly love my Family, but I do now realise why young men between the ages of 18-21 must go on to Further Education. Their mothers quite simply cannot tolerate them being at home for prolonged periods. It is seriously damaging to their health.
During the university holidays I put up with Son rising from bed at about the time we are having lunch, doing absolutely sod all all day, apart from hogging the TV remote then shooting little men on a screen all night. Unfortunately, I cannot tolerate it for more than a few weeks. I have read that domestic abuse cases have risen steeply since the start of lockdown, and I am trying desperately hard not to become another statistic.
The other problem with having Son, Daughter and Daughter’s Boyfriend living here is the amount of food that they manage to consume within 24 hours. Having stood in the Sainsbury’s queue for 45 minutes, avoided everyone in the store, unpacked all the shopping and breathed a sigh of relief that the ‘Food Battle’ is temporarily over, I am utterly dismayed when they eat the whole damn lot in 24 hours. Do people really need 5 meals and snacks a day?
At the start of lockdown, I loaded the fridge with nice ‘holiday’ foods – smoked salmon, boiled ham, good cheeses, and wine and beer, to make the whole experience more tolerable. Now, having realised the rate of food consumption, I am spending my days stalking Aldi to find the cheapest possible edible foodstuffs.
As well as two BBQs the Family decided it would be great to have a turkey for Easter Sunday, like a ‘Mini Christmas Lunch’. I duly cornered a bird at the local butcher’s and Husband queued for 1 1/2hours to collect it. I hadn’t specified a weight and was horrified when he staggered in with nearly 17lbs of turkey. It was so large we had to re-design the fridge to fit it in.
On Sunday I spent the whole day cooking the damn beast, complete with home-made stuffing, bread sauce and posh gravy etc. Moreover, I could barely lift it in and out of the oven without doing some bicep curls to warm up first. I have now realised why Christmas is in December. I am normally cooking this special meal in a festive jumper and reindeer ears, not dripping in sweat in a kitchen reaching 35 degrees, whilst wearing my pyjamas.
Hot Flushes And Sweating
I noticed that the rest of the family were sunbathing and sipping Prosecco, when I intermittently dashed into a shady part of the garden to cool myself off. By the time I served up I was in my 3rd pair of pyjamas of the day and trying to work out whether it was menopausal hot flushes and sweating, that were wreaking havoc, or the fat roast bird sitting on the table.
Whilst everyone was exclaiming ‘Mum! This is delicious’, I just wanted to lie naked in a cool room with a family-sized Lindt Easter Egg and HELLO! magazine. Thank Christ Easter comes but once a year…
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