IT’S been a busy week at Davies Towers - not only did The Mother have surgery on her carpal tunnel but the housemate’s daughter-in-law and grandson arrived in town for a visit from America, closely followed by the more domestic branch of the family who joined them for the weekend.

Consequently we seem to have spent most of the past few days either in hospital waiting rooms or in the kitchen preparing food, serving food or clearing up after both exercises.

With a number of growing lads in the family it never ceases to amaze how much food and water it takes to keep them going with the plea of ‘is there anything to eat’ coming hot on the heels of the towel being hung up from the last marathon dish washing session.

“Should I have a snack before dinner?”asked the 21 year old as we sat in the garden on Saturday afternoon.

“What are you thinking of?” I asked, expecting a request for a biscuit or bag of crisps. “I think we have some burgers in the fridge. I could probably manage one of those,” he replied.

“Yeah…go and mention that to your Nanna as she’s wading  her way through peeling the mound of potatoes she just put onto the work-surface,” I said with a grimace. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to cook a beef burger for you,” I grinned, knowing that probably as a doting grandmother she would drop everything to prepare the desired snack.

“I might get a bag of crisps,” he decided wisely.

The weekend visit also went to prove how much the younger kids are growing up. While it doesn’t seem like five minutes since we were able to pack them off to bed at a reasonable time it’s now become clear that they are far more likely to pack us off to bed.

“Please can I go to bed now?” I begged the 13 year old as the clock struck 1am on Sunday. “Your brother has been asleep on the sofa for an hour and everyone else is in bed,” I pointed out, cursing The Mother for giving her a second piece of chocolate brownie at dinner.

With the weekend’s fun filled chaos sadly coming to end and all the visitors returning to their respective homes the sadness of an empty house was tinged with relief that we could finally sit down in our familiar peace and quiet.

“It’s been wonderful to have the all here, but I’ll be happy to never peel another potato,” said the housemate with a laugh as we waved the last group off on Monday.

“Me neither,” I replied. “We’re having rice for dinner tonight.”

“I’m not going to come down for supper tonight,” said The Mother when I phoned for a morning condition check on her post operative hand.

“What are you going to have?” I asked, knowing that her bandages slightly restricted her culinary abilities.

“I’ve got some salad stuff and some ham the auntie who thinks you’ve got a sunny disposition, brought over for me so I’ll be absolutely fine. You two are exhausted so you need a quiet night,” she replied.

“The only thing I would ask is if you can pop up to the house and peel a few potatoes for me,”she added thankfully oblivious to the look of horror on the housemate’s face.