Last week was holiday time for children here in the UK. Schools, certainly the ones still controlled by local government, split each school term with a weeklong holiday. These are lovingly referred to as half-terms.
I think they are great.
My child certainly seems to need a break after a six, seven or eight week stint at school, and I love having a week to ourselves.
That typed I am finding them increasingly hard work, and the word holiday is not really applicable to me, in a sense I’d like it to mean anyway.
This is partly my own doing, as I don’t allow the necessary time for work related tasks, and attempt to plough through a normal working week incorporating activities and days out with little concern to running out of time.
My work is deliberately flexible, as I seek opportunities to suite circumstance that both suit my skills, my availability and my ethos. But the knowledge that I can work in the middle of night when necessary is perhaps a false comfort, as the reality of doing so leaves me underperforming, and probably not fully enjoying other things.
Last week was gloriously hectic, but I think I did actually plan too much and we would both have benefitted from more sedate time at home alone.
The kids were in charge of getting us into the right place.
Dan was in charge of scaling trees to finds the caches.
And I was in charge of health and safety.
What could possibly have gone wrong?
But all the activities of last week left me completely whacked, noticeably so to me and others. And I feared another funk of summer holiday proportions.
However, with a much more relaxed 48 hours I feel I am returning to a happier even keel.
Hey, I've even found the energy to blog about it.