Over the next four weeks it is Sister 1 and Sister 2’s birthdays (they’re twins), Mums and mine.

This Tuesday Mum and I cooked up a storm.  First last nights dinner (theirs, mine, Mr Rs and Stepson 2’s as I am still mid kitchen chaos and dust fest), and then some cheese straws, sausage rolls and brownies for Sister 1 & 2’s family party that we are having at Mum and Dads on Sunday.

We don’t tend to tell Mum about upcoming plans anymore as initially she becomes obsessive about when they are happening (and has lost all sense of days and times so can’t track the answers anyway) and then she gets so stressed by whatever it is that she is ‘sick’  and has to cancel.

But despite this, for some reason I told her we were cooking for the twins party and told her it’s nearly her birthday 🤦🏼‍♀️. I’m hoping that because it’s just family it wont be too big a worry for her.  It got us talking about age though.  And I’m always a bit intrigued about how mum views that these days.  She was really articulate in this conversation about it:

Most other conversations were a lot less articulate, and after getting rather overtired with the cooking (it turns out Mum is an expert mushroom peeler and cheese straw egg painter – we’ll gloss over the cheese grating which seemed to be based on ‘grate a handful, eat a handful), she needed a rest on the sofa. After a short while she came back into the kitchen where I was chatting to Dad to tell us, rather grumpily that ‘I don’t want to talk to anyone’, and then stood looking at us, presumably waiting for a response. 🤷‍♀️

Later that evening, dad reported back casserole we cooked was rather good, although Mum had insisted that she needed a cigarette afterwards as ‘I always have one after dinner’.  Which was true for a lot of her life but she gave up around 10 years ago. Apparently it did not go down well to be told that…

So we had many different Mummy W’s yesterday.  I guess it make Tuesdays interesting though 😁