This week I was on a work trip in Italy and left the men of the family to fend themselves again. I had booked one day in a local play scheme, but in the end Archaeologist Husband ended up dismantling two wardrobes in his brother's family's former Leicester house before it is passed to the new owners. Number One Son had had fabulous time, but poor Husband did not do any work. However, moving any furniture with Number One Son is an activity doomed from the start.
My newer laptop has been temperamental with Skype and it has problems with video. Thus, I could see Number One Son but he could not see me. Only hear my voice. To add more to the injury, the latter part of the week was quite hectic and I had to skip a couple of 'telephone calls'. In addition, I remembered to bribe Archaeologist Husband, but did not bring any present to Number One Son. This blog posting could thus be named 'the confessions of a bad mom', but this confession had more to do with the EasyJet hand luggage policies and the extra superduper humid and hot air inside the terminal in Rome. It was the first evening of the holidays and the airport was packed and I was sweaty. I just managed to grab the bottle of local Italian speciality and did not particularly wanted to even think about chocolates that are the main offer. I will have to bring a T-shirt from any future trip or I am doomed.