Another weekend seems to have whistled past, and I’m struggling to understand where it went. I woke both yesterday (Saturday) and today with the same thought”how much of the weekend is left?”.
On a Friday evening and Saturday morning it always feels like so much time is stretched out aheadtime that I look forward to at the close of each work week, but that I know in my heart of hearts will not be my own. It will be either given to others, or taken away under the guise of “expectation”. As Sunday evening approaches I will become irritable, and wonder how other people have time to do all the things I would like to doreading books, taking part in sports, or other such activities.
You might think “oh, but you’re sat writing this, right?”. Yes, I am. Two minutes ago I was in the loft, putting things away that have been clogging the upstairs landing up. Before that I was washing the younger children’s hair in the bath. Before that I was washing up in the kitchen, and half an hour before that I was at the corner shop buying milk. In a few minutes will need to go help with dinner, then more washing up, then bedtime stories, then packing clothes for next week. It never stops.
While writing this the kids are fresh from the bath, and might as well have been supercharged. They are running the length of the house shouting Braveheart style war-crysexcept of course they are dressed in nighties and have wet hair.
Memorable moment of the dayLittle Miss Six realising there was nobody out in the cold frosty evening to play with in the park, coming back in, stomping to her room and crying her way through an improvised song about liking everybody, and being so sad that they were not at the park the chorus line (repeated) was “and I’m so saaaddd.”