The Man of the Place and myself waved good bye to our youngest boy, George yesterday at about seven. He was off in a coachload of fellow students to the town of Figeac in the Midi Pyrenees for a bit to play the part of an exchange student. I gave him a kiss just as he was getting on the coach. I had just put on some lipstick and left a big plum coloured mark on his face that I didn't wipe off, I just left it. It is behaviour such as this that causes him to not trust kissing his mother.
George's school has one of the longest running student exchange programs in the UK. Sean, our middle son took part in this exchange program when he was a student. We have hosted a couple of students from Figeac over the years and I hope they had a good time. I also hope that this will improve George's spoken French as it is even rougher than mine.
Now that we've got some child-free time, I can cook with mushrooms and fish again without anybody taking personal offense. If I try to cook anything with mushrooms, spinach or any form of fish, George acts like I'm doing it on purpose, like I'm cooking AT him.
It is so odd to feel as though we have run out of children. If we had a pool, I think that we'd go skinny dipping. What on earth are we going to do with this big house in five years time when George goes off to university? Rent out rooms?
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