Weekends have never really meant much to me. For years I worked every Saturday, and then the occasional Sunday. My husband has always worked either Saturday or Sunday (depending on the radio station he is working on) and now will sometimes work both days if he is covering holiday or sickness.
My husband now works every Saturday in the afternoon, meaning we completely lose that as a family day and just have Sunday.
I think sometimes we put so much pressure on ourselves to have a good day and do something that we end up doing nothing. This year we haven't done nearly as much as last year, which is a shame.
Since September weekends have become even more special, as they are the only days I get to spend every single second with Charles.
When he was at preschool the afternoon would go so quickly so it didn't seem to really eat into our time together so much, but now, it's completely different.
I long for Saturday mornings so we can do our happy "family day" dance, as much as he loves school there's nothing quite like time together as a family.
It's not just me who appreciates that time, Harry does too, and Monday mornings are quite hard for him because he loves having his brother around and all of a sudden it's just me and him again.
I'm really making an effort to embrace the time we have together, and I'm realising that it doesn't matter if we just stay at home. Just being together is enough. Laughing, joking, tickling, play fighting, cuddling, just the simple little things.
I'm trying to be more patient with him too. I know I tend to tell him no to things when really, there's no reason for me to do that. So what if he wants to walk more than 2 metres away from me? I can still see him. He's safe. The little things I overreact to are becoming a lot fewer now.
We went to a garden centre last weekend and went to the Christmas section. (Yes, already.) He wanted to touch some of the baubles, and whereas I would usually say no I took a step back and let him.
He was discovering the different textures, the different materials used, the different colours, the different shapes, the different weights.
Just the same as we would.
I'm seeing him in a different light. At the weekend he isn't this schoolboy.
He's my child. My boy. Not a baby, or a toddler, or a preschooler anymore. But a boy.
I count down the days until Saturday, longing for that time we can all spend together. Because although he's ready for school and he needs to learn, we also need him at home.
A key member of the family and we are lost without him.
Weekends, something so ordinary that are now extraordinary.