An Hour For Free
After waking up this morning, and wondering why the alarm hadn't gone off on my phone (I set it as an insurance policy to deliver Miss 10 to rugby practice on time), I wandered downstairs. I had a vague memory of switching the alarm off – something I'm remarkably good at; waking up just enough to function, but not “really” waking up at all.
I arrived downstairs, looked at my phone, and started laughing. The clocks had gone back. “British Summertime” has come to an end – which I guess means I'll be cycling home in the dark until next spring.
The kids didn't understand at all – but they smiled when I told them we had an hour and a half until rugby – not the usual half hour of blind panic. The extra hour turned into a lazy breakfast before finding shoes and socks, and stumbling off down the road together. I did ask our eldest if she wanted to come with us – her facial expression in response indicated that she wouldn't be coming.
I'm clinging to our youngest daughter still being so compliant – being happy to go along with whatever we are doing – it makes life so much easier sometimes. If her sisters are anything to go by, it won't last for much longer. Today she stood in bracing wind for the best part of two hours while her sister flattened boys on the rugby field. I kicked a football around with her to keep her occupied for a while, and we had a cup of tea each from the clubhouse, but otherwise – she was happy just to hang out with me on the touchline.
My other half arrives home some time this evening from the coast – she spent the weekend keeping her Mum company while she does the “Great South Run”. I've been “back at base”, keeping everthing ticking over (read : pulling my hair out with the kids).
I'm thinking we have Dominos tonight, purely because we can.