Friday rolled in, and off I trotted for a lovely stroll through the park, soaking in the thought: Ah yes, the weekend! Time for a dose of grandson giggles on Saturday. Bliss!
Saturday arrived, and hubby and I made our way to see the boys. Two of them were basically on another planet — locked in their rooms, chatting on mobiles and battling monsters (or footballers? dragons?) on something called a PlayStation. Whatever it is, it involves a lot of shouting and button-smashing.
Thankfully, our trusty companions Charlie and George still hang out with us (for now, before tech gets them too!).
But whoosh — Saturday zipped by like a squirrel on espresso.
Sunday, I told myself, would be slow and easy. Maybe a bit of lounging, a cuppa, some daydreaming...
Lies.
Sunday sped past like a Spitfire on turbo mode. One blink and it was lunch, another blink and tea time had ghosted me. Where did the day go?
As evening crept in, I had grand plans for a quiet night: maybe a good book or a brain-boosting date with my iPad — WordWipe, Word Wonders, and my personal favourite, Hurdle (mental gymnastics for the mind, if not the body — which also really needs a workout).
I turned to hubby and sighed, “That’s it. Another weekend, poof, gone!”
He gave me a solemn nod, eyes glued to the Portugal vs. Spain cup match, mid-bite into a chunk of my homemade coffee cake.
I closed the curtains, whispered a dramatic “farewell, weekend,” and curled up with my iPad — ready to wipe some words and wonder where all the time went.

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