I love having my son at home. In fact, I just love having my son around full stop.
He’ll probably never fully understand his importance to my wellbeing.
I believe I am careful not to make him feel that my emotional welfare is his responsibility.
Plus, I hide my comfort in his company pretty well when he is being an arsehole.
School came as an interruption to our lives, or lifestyles. It signalled the end of years I will always treasure, where the agenda was ours to set, and the adventures ours to make and enjoy.
Of course, we are not living under a suppressive regime – not just yet – and we are blessed with freedoms to do what we want. However our normal protocols say that these precious moments are heavily interspersed by my son’s schooling.
Thus the school holidays have become things of gargantuan wonderment.
Exhausting, both physically and emotionally, yet all in good ways.
Well, apart from the sorrow I feel when they end.
And the most draining part, is trying to hide those feelings from my boy, as he ‘decides’ he would rather be on holiday with me, than be at school.
Or at the points he says; ‘shall I ask the teacher if you can come to school?’
Far too fucking much for me.
This child, and his natural consideration for me is a truly beautiful thing.
I could just burst with the pride, explode with the privilege of being his daddy.
Or smash his face in with a lightsaber.
Both are just perfect.
As is he.