I loved that my husband and I spent so much quality time with my boys while on holidays.
I loved that the days were so long, that our routines were so flexible, that we could just go with the flow of a slow, holiday life.
Play hangman and card games for 3 hours? Sure.
Dance around the bonfire, toasting marshmallows till 10pm at night? Why not.
Spend hours collecting 24 perfect rock pieces from a pebbled beach to make a chess set? Yes please.
I went on a long 3 hour drive, with just one kid, to explore a little town, with no goal except to come home with milk and eggs. Oh what fun adventures we had! Getting up to silly antics. Taking funny photos. Having brand new experiences. Talking and laughing like we were best friends. Then I did the same again the next day, with my other kid, and then the other.
I loved every minute I had with each boy. They are all so gloriously different!
My boys are 7, 11 and 13 now… and day by day, I can almost feel time slipping away from me, as if I’m frantically trying to catch pouring water with my cupped hands.
Most times, I’m so irritated by their noise, their 12 year old language, and their boy behaviours… but in the same breath I love them to bits and I wish that they could stay little, childlike and wildly happy.