The time has come.

My children start their new school on Tuesday. My son will be going into year 5 (how did that happen?) and my small girl is starting nursery class.

I am distraught. I’ve loved the holidays. Loved having them with me. Loved getting to know our new house together with them.

It’s the final part of our moving house adventure, the part which prompted our move in the first place and the part I’ve been dreading the most. Yet the days seem to be speeding up. All I can think about is that half term is not so long away. And that is an appalling thing to think. Wishing time away.

When my son was four and starting school I wrote this blog post. (That was in the days when I wrote very personal posts. I’ve taken many of them offline but this one I kept.) With my daughter I don’t feel cheated with time like I did with my son, but, well. I’ve just enjoyed it. The three of us. (Sometimes four when husband not working.) I’ve not once wished that it was time for them to go back to school.

I know they are going to have a great time at school. That is a given.

And maybe, maybe, part of me dreading them going back is because it will leave me with time on my hands. Time to start writing again. And baking. Time to get those ambitions realised. I always said I would start building the foundations of my ideal career whilst my daughter was small and go for it when she starts school. Well. That time is upon me.

And now, I have to live up to my own expectations