The youngest is away on holiday, an excursion actually to visit our nation's capital. The night before he left he was nearly beside himself with anticipation, he didn't sleep much that night, owing to his excitement and the loud ticking of the alarm clock he had placed right by his head for fear he wouldn't wake up in time for the 6am departure.
Our house without him, is strange. It seems that he marked time for us. There is school time, with the practicing of the piano, the inevitable rush to make it out the door in time - with much scampering and door slamming, the returning home from school time, fruit time, homework time. We accidently set a place for him at the dinner table.
By the second night, we're a little used to it, maybe enjoying it in a cheeky way. The family feasted on huge baked potatoes for dinner, the child detests them and we generally respect this. He's also a keen climate change mini-activist, taking care to switch off every single powerpoint that isn't being used. We've silently all started leaving them on, started to switch the tv off using the remote and not at the switch. We feel slightly naughty. We laugh about it and we miss him.
Today I started packing up my bedroom which has been mine for the last 22 years. I'm moving in a couple weeks and in the excitement and mild stress of trying to find a place, I haven't had time to be nostalgic. I think it was the care bear that started it. I am looking forward to trying to start anew in my new room - meaning I'm going to try and be neat - at least so I can open the door without having to apply too much force.
xx
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