Bakewell Tart and Boundaries

The new carer - another one - has just left.

He didn't have time to finish everything there is to do to get Robin up. But at least he is dressed.

So I'm giving  him breakfast - banana and peach yoghurt and a green smoothie.

I'm also making the almond filling for a Bakewell tart to take to the lunch we are having with my niece and her family at my sister's farm.

Before Robin is half way through his breakfast he says,

I want to have a lie down.

(The same thing happened on Saturday, just before we were due to go out, and with Nigella's olive oil cake still in the oven.)

I say,

You can - in your clothes.  Or you can rest in your chair with your feet  up. We are going out as soon as the tart is cooked.

He says,

No. I want to take them off.

I become a broken record.... but there follows a horrible half an hour.

In the end he does lie on the bed in his clothes. For 5 minutes. Then says,

 I want to go to the loo.

Meanwhile the Bakewell tart is browning in the oven. And I lose all heart, and confidence in trying to make boundaries for me.

Much, much later after sumptuous vegetarian lasagne, everyone says the tart is good, especially with the vanilla custard, but mostly all I can taste is the memory of conflict and despair.

Luckily it's a baking hot day in the garden ....rugs on the grass....a paddling pool... games and shrieks of laughter... my sisters, my niece and my sweet great nephew and nieces are an absorbing and delightful distraction.

 And kind brother- in- law takes Robin out for a drive so I can be blessed by their precious company for a bit longer in the brightness of the garden.