The children are with their grandparents for the weekend. We had a lie in followed by a breakfast of pancakes and coffee, and are now reading yesterday’s paper. Husband keeps dozing off on the sofa. Later we might go out for coffee or even lunch.
It is quiet. It is blissful.
No one has argued, no one has pestered me for anything, no one has left a trail of destruction after them.
I haven’t had to concern myself with what anyone else is wearing, whether they have flushed the toilet and washed their hands, whether they are kicking their sister under the table, or whose crayons are whose.
This is what Sundays used to be like. This is what we need every now and then.
(Thank you, parents and parents-in-law. Can we book the next one yet?)