love those cupcakes

January goings on I forgot to mention

We went to see The Darkest Hour recently.  

In the afternoon.

The mister bought a huge bag of toffee popcorn and a giant Coke.

I went the healthier and cheaper route with a couple of clementines from the fruit bowl.

The film was so very enjoyable, the acting superb.

I cried. 

Twice.

I say Gary Oldman for Prime Minister.

I mean the Oscar.

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Though we're down to two here, the food shopping trips don't appear to have decreased.

I was in Lidl the other day (their fruit and veg is very good and opportunities for people watching equally tempting).

Perusal of the displays was interrupted by a man shouting to his female companion in the next aisle.

'Do you want one of these bastard joints of meat or not?'.

Why, I thought with a discrete shake of the head, does he have to swear at her and so loudly?

Then I spotted the sign.

Special offer:  basted pork shoulders.

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In another supermarket, a much anticipated book was espied on the shelves.

Of course a copy (no such thing as too many books, especially half price ones) found its way into the basket.

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I baked a batch of sparkly triple chocolate and peanut butter cup brownies for my Girlie's birthday (being delivered in Manchester by the Boy who's joining her for a weekend of celebrations).

That same Boy baked salted caramel brownies for his colleagues to welcome Friday.

So who wins the battle of the brownies?

You decide.

  

January days in verbs

Meeting friends for lunch at a favourite venue in the centre of town.   The art exhibitions aren't up to much but the food is so good here.

Driving to the coast to stock up on knitting supplies and reserve a place on a craft workshop.  Yep, going to try my hand at sock making.

Casting on a sweater with newly purchased yarn which is proving a tad annoying to knit with as it has a tendency to split.

Sniffing the hyacinths growing in a pot in the kitchen.   Double yolkers these, two blooms per bulb. 

Enjoying a regular home yoga practice.  With a friend.

Reading book number three (from the Christmas pile) of 2018.  I managed to read 52 last year so need to get my skates on if I'm to equal it this year.

Walking in the snow, though Buzz cat was the first to leave prints.

Looking round the local Dorman Museum when the littlest and the Boy coordinated their visits one weekend.  It's donkey's years since I was last in there though it was a favourite place to pop into with my dad when I was a youngster.  There's a mish mash of exhibits (dinosaurs, suffragettes, local pottery, the town during the war, the stuffed birds and egg collections I remember from way back and which probably date from the museum's early days) but it's a cracking little museum with free entry.

Boiling fruit and sugar to make marmalade.  Whilst flavoursome, it did resemble soup but has since set sufficiently to spread on toast.  

Adding a jam funnel to the shopping list.  Filling jars with scalding hot sticky gloop is a messy and painful process.

  

 

Mind the gap!

Yesterday, the Boy left home.  Yes, I know he left previously to go to live in halls at university, but this time is different.  He's moved into a very smart two bedroomed apartment and, barring any unforeseen disasters, he won't be coming back.

I'm not gonna lie, it's not easy and I'm wobbly.  Make that very wobbly. 

The week leading up to his departure was awful.  I had permanent butterflies in my stomach, feeling like I was about to sit an exam or attend an interview, and I couldn't sleep.  I'm very emotional at the best of times (if you're a regular visitor here you already know that), a card holding cry baby, in fact.  I've cried in the bath, over the coffee machine, in the car, in bed, I cried when I gave that hug goodbye, I cried when my friend rang last night to see how I was coping. So much crying I now need an industrial strength de-puffing eye cream (recommendations greatly appreciated).

Of course, I know leaving the family home for truly independent living is the right move for the Boy. It's what happens. It's what should happen.  But it's different for us as parents.  As someone wrote after his own son left home, 'He is experiencing the adjustments that come with beginnings. His life is starting for real.  I have begun the long letting go.”  We'll now need to adjust to having a very much reduced role and presence in his life.  He's now firmly in the driving seat.  

Whilst it really is great to see him striking out on his own, knowing that he's eminently capable of creating a comfortable home and looking after himself, the truly hard bit is adjusting to the gap, to this new stage in our lives and being a couple again.  We're not the same people we were all those years ago when it was just the two of us the first time round and I'm not just referring to the wrinkles. 

The mister is still living with severe depression and anxiety (if indeed that's what it is; he certainly ticks a number of other boxes) and struggles with communication on any level, whilst I'll admit to being not the most sympathetic or considerate.  And now there's no buffer.

So, I'm accepting this period won't be easy but I do believe that at some point we'll find a new equilibrium, a new 'normal'.

In the meantime, I'm off to stock up on Kleenex tissues.