The wondrous boyfriend Ben turns 18 today, and Bec wanted to bake him a cake. Actually, she baked him four (but we promised not to talk about the first other three).
"Mu-um, this cream looks a bit runny for the filling..?"
"Um, I believe you're meant to whisk it first."
Looks good, doesn't it? I'm sure he'll be very impressed, she even made her own lemon butter frosting on top, now that's what I call dedicated!
We've had some glorious weather this past week, and what a welcome it is. Matt invited a few friends round the shed and they decided to have a BBQ, what started out at 3pm with eight, finally finished up at midnight with two dozen - and only then because I pulled the plug on the music. Unfazed, they all piled off to a nightclub (oh, the energy of youth, eh?). At least they had the good grace to tip the keys to all the cars littering the drive into the pot (on the hall table) before they left.
Abby keeps inviting stray kids over over without telling me. I had to make yesterday's roast stretch double to feed all the extra bellies. I trust some of them will find their own way home before Easter. They're dragging the inflatable dinghy towards the river as I type, mutt hot in pursuit - apparently off to build a dam.
Fair enough (shrug).
Al is in London this week, so it falls to me to check out all these places Sam's social worker has urged us to visit. Sam finishes his life skills course at college this summer, and we are trying to put together a five day week of activities for him. All his clubs are also set to end once he turns 18, so it's a scary transitional time right now, feeling about to see what's out there for him - that said, we're cautiously optimistic since meeting up with this new guy, he's been able to point us towards some seemingly promising services (fingers crossed).
Spring fever grabbed me by the throat this week, and I've been having a long over-due clear out of our overspilling book-cases. I brutally threw out all the broken spined, dog-eared and out-dated stuff, plus I reckoned the local charity shop probably wouldn't thank me for donating that twenty-plus year old A-Z of London, The 1987 Guinness Book of World Records, or that circa 1990 Reader's Digest DIY ten ton tome. What is it with these relatives who must thrust books the likes of "The complete gardening compost compendium", "How to stop your dog farting in twenty easy steps" or "Vegan for Life!" on you, every bloody time Christmas or a birthday (which for me is thankfully a two for oner, both being on the same day) rolls around?
Anyways, after ditching all the crap, I kept arguing with myself over what I could bear to part with. My John Grisham (hardback) collection? No one else in this house is ever likely to read him. Yeah, but you could say the same about my complete set of Anne Rule, and no way am I ever tossing her out! As for Stephen King - ha, do not even go there.
So I chucked out all Alan's books instead.
How I'm going to transport six full trash bags of books to the Goodwill shop is any one's guess, but at least I feel thoroughly cleansed and virtuous.
Now as if the books weren't traumatic enough, I've decided to tackle my wardrobe next. And the ovens. The windows could sore use a wash too.
Can you see what a bit of sun brings? And to think, there was me moaning about the winter..