No one plans a Sunday anyway, do they? Mums do. Up by 8am latest, dressed by 9am, then kids and meals all delicately planned. Lazy Sundays are a dim and distant memory from LBK (Life Before Kids).
Today I planned a lazy Sunday. And I got one in mum-terms. The kids got up and amused themselves happily for an hour. I climbed out of bed at 9am to a round of applause in my head. Breakfast completed by 10am and an hour of writing at my desk while the kids got themselves dressed. Dreamy.
We’ve scooted to the park, bumped into friends. Went to the supermarket, bumped into neighbours. Grabbed a cuppa and play with neighbours. Now we’re back home to make a cheats roast, out of sheer guilt, as it’s been a while. As I’ve been ill this week I’ve got to weave in 4 hours of work to make up for time lost and meet some deadlines. Then there’s school uniform to get ready and PE bags to check.
And this is a mild Sunday, the type I look forward to. No birthday parties (we’ve sometimes had two in one day to get to), we can’t visit my Nana, as her residential home is quarantined because of sickness at the moment and my parents are having their kitchen done, so it’s not ideal to go there. There’s no event commitments, no festivals or school fairs.
This isn’t a moan. I chose to have kids and frankly, I love being a morning person now. I’m struggling to think what I did with my time before. It’s just a little laughable that a Sunday can be planned when you think about it. Doesn’t make it any less enjoyable.
