How can another school year have gone so fast? We are now in the closing stages of the final act of daughter #2's time at primary school; she has run her last race at sports day, taken part in her last play (Grease, last week-- but a specially abridged school version which doesn't involve Rizzo thinking she's up the duff and has removed the word 'virginity' from the Sandra Dee song etc) and all that remains is the heart-wrenching ordeal of the Leavers Assembly (waterproof mascara essential) next Monday.
In the meantime, having said goodbye to Luis the playboy prince I am all set to enjoy a few days of child-free downtime recovering from this latest deadline frenzy and gathering my strength for a full return to maternal duty when the holidays start. I had planned to languish in the garden making inroads into my TBR pile, but summer (which was in full blazing, swooning glory while I was cowering and whimpering over the computer) has now vanished again. This is most unfortunate. Why is it that lying in the sunshiny garden reading in the middle of the day seems wholesome and lovely, but lying on the sofa doing the same thing feels shockingly sluttish and a short step away from drinking vodka in the afternoons and not bothering to get dressed? (Both of which I may possibly resort to as the summer holidays progress...) Suspect the answer may have something to do with the fact that from the sofa there would be no avoiding the Miss Havisham-like dust and grime. It would also place me in perilous proximity to the toaster at a time when I am trying to ease up on my carb addiction and my three-pieces-of-toast-and-honey-a-day habit, so is probably best avoided.
So, that leaves me with something of a dilemma as to how to spend these three days of freedom. The car is in the garage, awaiting the arrival of a part that will stop it belching out black, noxious-smelling smoke, so that rules out the possibility of venturing out shopping (which is actually a relief. I fantasize about shops full of lovely things when I'm shut in my office wearing jeans and oddly-shaped, shrunken t-shirts, but find the reality of traipsing round and trying things on unutterably depressing. Think this is all tied in somehow with the toast and honey etc.) Absence of car also makes it difficult to get out and see friends, many of whom have probably forgotten who I am after 6 months of pretty constant deadline reclusiveness.
Oh dear-- think it's all pointing to one thing. Unless anyone can suggest anything else, I'm going to spend the day cleaning the kitchen, aren't I?