Here we are approaching the French weekend. This is somewhat different from the British weekend, since, especially families with children, Saturday bears a remarkable resemblance to weekdays.
Our bundle of joy will be going to school for the morning, and be back at lunchtime for her habitual pizza. She's invited a friend to play in the afternoon; and on Sunday we're going to eat with newly-met friends. So we won't have much time together this weekend. School on Monday, and I set off on the mad April tour before she gets back.
Knowing I'll be away for all but 36 hours in the next two weeks is only bearable because of the time I have already had, every day when I am mostly here. But I am so aware that that time is precious because of the time I spend away. The highs and lows, summer and winter, home and away, swings and roundabouts.