The past few days have been ones of panic. Panic that my poor, hard done by boys have obviously had their childhood ruined by not jetting off to exotic climes this year. Filled with unnecessary concern and passports in hand, I was on the verge of pressing 'continue' on a last minute jaunt that we can ill afford (old houses are expensive), when I realised that the boys have said nothing other than what an amazing few weeks they've had (not to mention that my littlest's passport appears to be several months out of date, anyway).
With the summer holidays soon to start, I'm trying desperately hard not to fall in to the trap of overscheduling too many things for the boys in a panicked attempt to fill their days so they don't experience a moment's boredom. Truth be told, they both need a rest from the daily routine of being rushed out of the house in the morning, rushed home again, rushed to sports clubs, and then rushed to bed. I actually think a little bit of boredom might be a good thing for both of them ... and for me.