This weekend has gone past like a particularly fast thing.
Also like a particularly busy thing.
Friday night was eclipse night. We braaied (as is possibly the tradition for these things), and yes, the clouds parted like Moses was doing a Red Sea move on the sky. The kids, already knackered from a first week back at school, stayed up til 10:30 just to see they’d seen it. This was a move that I totally supported: it’s touch and go whether even either of them will around for the next decent total lunar eclipse. So this is something to tell their kids and their kids’ kids about.
It was wholly unspectacular, sure. But they were there.
Yesterday was dominated by kids’ parties: one here, one in Hout Bay – the terrifying Southern Suburbs version of Pinelands, necessitating close on 70km of driving over the mountain and back and over the mountain and back – with the kids getting into bed at 10:30. Again.
I’ve totally nailed this parenting thing.
I didn’t stop for 15 hours yesterday. It seems that I can’t do that anymore.
Today: food shopping in the horrendous Constantia Village Pick n Pay, some homework in pairs, except the other half of the pair didn’t arrive, so twice as much work in half the time, or something. Lunch with the mother-in-law, Dodgeball academy (while the smaller half bounced nearby), and then home for a Skype with the UK.
I’m not saying any of this was unpleasant (except Pick n Pay obvs), but it doesn’t give one any time for any sort of downtime. And that’s one of the things the weekend is for, right?
And that’s why I’m sitting in front of a warm blog and sipping on a Milk Stout with some Portishead occupying the background.
Not a bad end to the weekend.
Not a bad weekend. Just a very, very busy weekend.