The Press and Journal (Aberdeen and Aberdeenshire)
MARY-JANE DUNCAN
THE VIEW FROM HERE
The mister and I are gearing up for an emptier home. As our youngest headed back to school last week, we’re painfully aware that in just a few short weeks, both our middle and eldest will be out the door as well – and this time in a more permanent way. They’re off to university and will no longer be living under our roof.
Our eldest has left and returned several times now, so we’re confident she knows her way home. That boomerang-shaped kid will never be a stranger.
But our middle child?
This will be her first year at university, in a city on the other side of the country. It might as well be the other side of the world.
While I appreciate this might sound a tad dramatic, you need to realise she’s inherited her father’s lack of communication skills.
Phoning home to check in or answering texts? Not a chance. It takes threats just to get a reply.
I try to convince myself it’s because she’s busy living her best life, not just inherited disinterest or laziness.
I’ve always had a strong need to “mother”.
Growing up in a family full of younger cousins and surrounded by women who led by example, I learned early how to care for others.
But what will I fill the gap with now? Himself says categorically no more puppies!
He insists we should be revelling in having more time to ourselves. The reduced minutes spent doing laundry or picking up trainers alone give us back HOURS each day.
I know we still have one at home, but she’s already got one foot out the door.
With free bus travel and two sisters living in the big city, I have no chance of competing.
While I love her confident independence, I admit I miss holding hands as we cross the street or going somewhere for a treat.
Nurturing something is second nature to me, and now everyone’s questioning the growing number of houseplants in our home.
My need to feed, cherish and watch things grow is apparently out of control.
Naming all my plants has fuelled the ridicule even further.
“Hank the tank” wasn’t faring too well near the living room door, and I could practically hear the eye rolls as I chatted with Hank about his wants and needs.
Would he prefer to be further into the room, away from potential draughts and direct sunlight? Perhaps some plant food along with his weekly water?
A sharp inquiry about whether I was providing him with a menu left me threatening that someone might have to make her own lunch for that cheek!
Discussions about massive stems growing in every direction but up, random mushrooms popping out of the soil, scorched orchid leaves – I could go on.
But, seriously, am I just terrible with plants, or are they this much of a pain for everybody?
Maybe the best way to ensure they don’t die is simply not to have any.
I’ve read hints and tips, Googled remedies, but I refuse to let them control me – I already have three divas filling that role.
If they need spraying every day and watering every second, with the temperature set to exactly 23C, then maybe they aren’t the right fit.
They might not complain about having nothing to eat in the house, or having to walk the dogs, but I’m just not feeling the leafy love.
Perhaps it’s time to focus on nurturing myself instead.