Three children strapped in the car. Check.
Three pairs of shoes. Check.
Fuzzy blankets, dummies and bottles to satisfy for the next four hours. Check.
One trip back inside the house to extract favourite slightly wet Bertie bunny from the drier. Check.
Three kisses and I love yous delivered to children as they prepare for takeoff. Check.
Just one more hug for good measure. Check.
All systems go and pre-departure checklist complete – chauffeur driver (daddy) in place and windows raised. All tray tables safely stowed away and seats returned to the upright position.
And then with a flurry of waving, air kisses and excitement, the car doors close and off they go… let the “Me Time” begin. Four whole hours of infinite possibility and gay abandon, topped off with no responsibility and time off the clock. A brief return to singledom and a peek at my pre-parenting days.
Pass the cocktails, recline the deck chair and bring on the relaxing music.
Its Me Time, yes Me Time , the elusive kid-free, completely on your own, no one visiting you in the bathroom, no cutting up fruit or rescuing Lego from a small brothers oesophagus. No one calls your name repeatedly as you stand millimeters away and no one creates track marks on your new ponti pants ( yes they are called this ) with a Scooby Doo racing car.