We are on holiday and I am encased in a cloud of lethargy. The sun is hot and the humidity high. My brain is in shutdown mode. I have nothing to do. I don't have to be anywhere. If it wasn't for the presence of the kids I would probably sleep for the entirety of our two week break. I am poised somewhere between feeling acute discomfort for being so stunningly non-productive and the blissful wallow of the gloriously lazy.
We are staying with my in-laws at their house in Geneva and I think I am in Heaven. I have had a lie-in every day. Dinner magically appears, followed by hours of wine. I have an afternoon nap every day (strangely, my usual seven hours of broken sleep is no longer enough) and life has become as easy as a beautiful dream.
Firstborn and the Small(er) One's Cousin J is with us, as her mother has just produced number four and understandably, welcomed the chance to offload at least one of her litter. Cousin J and Firstborn are as thick as thieves, self-proclaimed princesses, spending most of their time racing around, shedding clothes and screaming, stealing ice-blocks from the freezer - the Small(er) One desperately trying to keep up, always at least four steps behind them. It breaks my heart, the Small(er) One, trying to run with the big girls; the faster her fat little legs work to keep pace, the faster they run in order to get away - usually with a taunt thrown over their dainty shoulders. The Small(er) One, finally rejected once too often, then retreats to the safety of Mummy; she sits on me and pats me, then settles into the crook of my arm to watch the older girls with saucer eyes.
Must go. I have a hot date with (yet) a(nother) cold glass of wine... More from the holiday frontline soon.