So my husband and kids arrive back tomorrow after spending three weeks away – mostly in New Zealand with my family (not counting the 60 quality hours travelling there and back!).
I wasn’t able to go due to work commitments and, I am not going to lie, the idea of some ‘quiet time’ at home was appealing.
They seem to be having a fabulous time – scanning ewes, learning to ski, sledging (somewhat faster when you’re being towed by a motorbike).
I am also enjoying time connecting with friends. Getting outside to train. Working late without needing to worry about getting back.
After they left, it took me about two days to sort through the chaos left behind and return some order. I even got a bit arty (for me), although the spare room was one step too far.
But it has been disconcerting walking into the house. A very quiet house. Where everything was where I left it. And stuff hasn’t bred into little (or big) piles to be sorted.
My mum used to always complain that our house was never tidy like the neighbours (their’s was ridiculously tidy. Their kids’ even put their toys away. Setting impossibly high standards – thanks for that!).
My response was isn’t it good to have one that looked lived in (it usually didn’t prevent me from being press-ganged into cleaning frenzy).
I’m sure I’ll be telling myself that again soon…
Tough Mother 