And so normality returns

or so you would think. Ok, so maybe "And so normality sort of returns on a part time, job share basis kind of thing with flexible working hours" would be a bit more accurate if a hell of a lot more waffly.

Summer is over and Chloe's back to school again, not to mention wanting to go to just about every club run by the school and a few that have nothing to do with the school. If she had her way a) I'd never set eyes on her, and b) I'd be broke. Those clubs are not cheap and she wants to dance and sing and act and play tennis and kick some ass in karate too, plus she has her heart set on GB this year and football, she wants to play football. Why does football arrive with the rain? Rain, hail, sleet, snow and the odd five minutes of sunshine that makes it all seem worthwhile and all of this played on a pitch that child haters walk their dogs across at weekends. Do you want to do that load of washing, because I'm not sure I do.

So with all that I'm to be left with a lot of time on my hands every day. Lots of lots of lovely long stretching hours rolling out in front of me and I'm having trouble getting back into the habit of not filling them with the Gruffalo and jungle ginger cookies.

Because I loved our Summer this year. Chloe seems to have morphed into a real little lady this Summer, maybe it was going on holiday earlier this year, maybe it's me giving her more leeway, maybe she's just at that age but I can merrily while away hours just listening to her talk about everything and nothing. At times she still seems to small with her childlike outlook on the world and at others she's far wiser than her years. It's been great spending so much time with her this Summer, but I have to admit that sometimes at the end of the day when she was all tucked up in bed I'd feel fidgety, itching to do something or make something but with no time or light left to do it in. The notion passed come morning again and I'd happily fall back into the land of all things Chloe without a passing thought of work or accounts or paperwork or much of anything else if I'm honest.

And now I'm sat with all the time in the world and the fidget just isn't playing the game. Maybe it only creeps in during the wee short hours ... or maybe I'm just a chore of a woman who wants what I can't have when I can't have it.

What I could do with is a kick up the backside, if someone would be so kind as to oblige.