So the boys went off camping last weekend. Big and little; matching rucksacks and a bundle of sausage rolls.
It was the first time they’d been on an overnight adventure together, in fact it was two nights, and what a fabulous time they had. I’m a fairweather (for that read utterly uninterested, would rather go for a spa) type camper. So when their ‘expedition was suggested I made sure my name was well and truly out of the equation.
I fussed around making sure there was enough warm clothes packed – including some strange looking baby tights I forced Arthur to try on to see if they still fitted. They did so I packed them with instructions for them to be worn under trousers. Not sure why I felt 30 miles up the road was facing sub-zero temperatures but it made me feel better.
They had an amazing time, searching through sand dunes, watching seals and snuggling up by torch light to read stories of bear hunts and pirates. Arthur can’t believe he has his own sleeping bag and I love the fact he’s exploring a world that’s becoming closed to so many children. It was their little bubble and I’m so pleased they did it because it gave them a chance to get muddy, jump off rocks and other such things that would have left me a quivering wreck.
But…if I’m brutally honest, all that stuff is wonderful, yet the real reason I was so happy is that it gave me two indulgent days and nights alone in my house for copious pottering and other such pleasures. Oh bloody hell it was good. I ate steak and asparagus did a lot of very little, watched my secret and very guilty pleasure – Midsomer Murders and generally enjoyed my own company.
In fact, when they returned all boy-like and full of mud and washing I felt a little annoyed they had burst my little bubble.The towels and foisty (unworn) strange baby tights were thrown around while I twitched uncomfortably for a while.
We’ve got loads planned together over Easter and I’m really looking forward to it all but when another boys-only trip was suggested in the summer I found myself more than a little excited and resisting the urge to pin him down for a date.
I guess we all need our bubbles – just so happens theirs is muddy and adventure packed and mine is filled with steak and wine and Midsomer murders.