We have no guests. We haven’t been invited out. There are no parties for the boys. No one is demanding that we do anything.
It’s just us.
And there is nothing particular to do. There are no deadlines to meet. No fruit and veg in dire need of cooking, pickling, poaching or drying.
I can breathe.
I can read my book without feeling guilty or pressurised into doing anything else while they enjoy a siesta upstairs
Later the fire is going to be lit. A board game or some cards will come out and we'll snug on down and eat olives and hummus and taramasalata with a nice glass of wine or maybe some champagne for us and something scarily unnatural and fizzy for the boys. Supper will be cooked for me by a Husband who has said sorry to me and I said he didn't need to say it but I am glad he did. We’ll go to bed warm and sated, utterly relaxed and happy that we aren't quarrelling.
Tomorrow its bike rides and hockey and one of our own chickens roasted with all the trimmings for lunch but only if we want…
Don’t think I could get a better weekend if I tried.