We can make it if we try

Helping The Boy move into his new place reminded me how shit rented accommodation, especially student rented accommodation, is. It’s a strange house; from the front it looks like a normal three-bedroomed semi-detached, but there’s been an odd extension on the rear (yes I know ours is weird too but this is odder) making the kitchen longer and putting another room (Boy’s bedroom) on beside it. However this has meant that what used to be the back room downstairs (now used as the communal sitting-room) is now sandwiched in the middle and has no natural light at all. The floorboards on the landing are decidedly dodgy, but the bathroom’s modern and lovely (redone this year, according to Boy). After taking the first carload over we rushed back for the rest and I also took over my vacuum and cleaning materials and gave it a bit of a sprucing. The carpets were still grimy and the kitchen was … sticky. And there were crumbs in the drawers.

Last night none of the others he’s sharing with had arrived so he went to his pals’ house for some company, but they’d gone to a party. So he watched their TV instead. My heart went out to him when he told me.

When they organised the rent for the house he was still planning on being at Warwick, and it would have made very good sense, because only first-years are allowed to live on campus and Leamington’s halfway between home and the University. But because he’s left there it’s now actually further away (and more expensive) from the college he’ll be at than if he was at home. When I chatted to him about it he told me that if he’d known he wouldn’t be at Warwick this year he wouldn’t have arranged to live there, but he did, so he’s there.

I know he’s a grown man now, and I understand that he needs to be independent, and thank God for it – there’s something not quite right with a person who doesn’t need to strike out on their own. Perhaps if he was in a job and able to support himself I’d feel happier. Perhaps if he had a better grasp of finances I’d feel happier. Perhaps if he wasn’t actually further from where he’ll need to be than Home is I’d feel happier.

I’ve never been good at Letting Go, and these apron strings are bloody hard to cut. But I'm a carer by nature and inclination, and the day I stop wanting to care is the day I should be shot. We need to win the lottery and buy a great big house with enough wings and floors for all our family and friends to have separate apartments and yet all be close together.