This evening the husband and I will be preparing for the week ahead. The excitement is palpable in our house as we are going on holiday for a whole, glorious week on our own. Our week will be spent walking, kayaking and camping along the Abel Tasman track, spending the night in Nelson then driving down the west coast, seeing where the will takes us, staying with some friends and flying back home. So the first job is to set out all our kit to see what we need to go and buy. The husband showed me the tiny stove he has zipped up in a neat little pouch and the spanking clean cooking pots designed purposefully for camping. I can barely contain myself at the thought of chatting, making tea and beans in the morning, walking through paradise, swimming and sleeping out in the open.
I have even bought the kind of shoes I have always laughed at people for wearing. Check them out. In the true style of being a mum, even though I know there is nothing wrong with leaving my children in the infinitely more capable hands than my own of my parents, I feel guilty about not taking them, guilty that I can't wait to relinquish all responsibility for a week and sad that I'm not going to see them for 7 whole days.