Sunday. Mother's Day.
Everything you want from the one day of the year you can legitimately Do Nothing.
A lie in - or going back to bed at 7am after being up with Xander from 5am.
Presents - A delivery of flowers and an Amazon-supplied Green & Blacks selection box.
Dad-supervised baking - banana flapjacks to try and make a dent in the increasingly brown stash.
Knocking about in the garden - sunshine, clear blue skies, magnolia in bloom...
A roast dinner - we found a whole chicken in the freezer! (It was dead.)
Pink fizz - I decided we may as well make a dent in the odds and sods of Cava that have been in the booze fridge since we had our housewarming nearly 5 years ago. It wasn't that bad.
And as lovely as the day was, I couldn't help but feel sad that Covid had ruined our plans. No lunch for my mum, no visit from Andy's mum, no walk in the woods...
Just the knowledge that I don't get to pack them off to school in the morning and enjoy an uninterrupted thought process for the next few months.
I go to bed with a distinct sense of dread about what is to come. Not just globally (I've stopped thinking about that - it does nothing for ones mental health) but in our small corner of the world.
I love my kids, of course I do, but being in the house with them for 12 weeks was never in the plan.
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