Week 1: Mugged!

Week 1. A beginning.

I'm full of trepidation. This is all so NEW. But not entirely. It's not like I haven't cooked, cleaned and ironed before after all. Most of us, by our middle-years, have figured out to clean and cook, even if cooking involves toast and beans. Or eggs and oven chips.

But this? This is on a scale and over a period of time (2 years at least) that I've not faced before. Neither have the family, poor buggers. So yes, I'm a bit nervous about making a cods of the whole thing.

But that's not the main source of my discomposure. No, that lies in becoming the main "carer" and (in theory) "teacher" for our 14 year old boy who is stuck at home with severe anxiety. He hasn't been able to go to school for 2 years. He can't face any form of formal education. Hell, he is even worried about noting in a log the news and documentaries that he's watched (and he watches a lot. You want to know about the treatment of the Uyghur Muslims by China? Or the workings of the hacktivists, Anonymous? Or perhaps what its like to live in North Korea? What about the Iraq war, the shadow of Saddam or the Libyan revolution? He's your man). He's also very nervous of strangers (hides when there is a knock at the front door) and doesn't go out much; certainly not without one of us or one or his closest mates. And to make the challenge of helping him develop that bit more interesting, he refuses any formal, expert help because he believes it makes him feel worse.

So, back to week 1. I expect to be stuck in doors all week, so I select a series of dinners to make that are a bit more complex than Hoops on Toast. Enchiladas (Hairy Bikers), perch with spicy tomato (Atul Kochhar), teriyaki lamb (Wagamama cook book), slow-cooked chicken with a crisp corn crust (Ottolenghi) - you get the drift.

Then IT HAPPENS.

"Chunky, can we go out?"

He calls me "Chunky". I think it's a term of affection - relating to the extra stone I'm carrying above my belt.

Wait, what? Out? As in us two? You bet we can!

What do you want to do, Natural History museum? Imperial War Museum? Something else?

Something else.

And this is how we found ourselves at Tesco in Purley, him with scanning wand in hand, zapping products like a Harry Potter of the Aisles. We needed furniture polish and some Summer Fruits squash. We get EVERYTHING. I tell you that boy's patronus would be a shopping trolly with Dale Winton screaming "Go wild in the aisles, son!"

I'm delighted. The massive bag of Quavers, 2 lots of chorizo, 18 cup cakes, chilli nuts, chocolate, baguette ... well, they are all worth it. He asked to go out! And better still, undeterred, later that week he asked to go for a "fresh trim" (haircut, for those over age 30) for the first time in 3 months ... and came long with three of us to The Emirates to watch the Gunners scrape a win against the Hammers.

So I allow myself to dream a bit. To imagine that the big domestic change-over might just be the catalyst for better things for our "Harry". There is hope.

There's also a mountain of housework to do. And messing about on here ain't getting it done.

So, with new Turbo Mop in hand - until next time,

Love and elbow grease,

Mr H