It’s Thursday night.
A hugely anticipated night in our house.
At about 9pm the excitement peaks.
Just before my husband arrives in with the shopping.
I always know it’s a Thursday because of the many presses left open throughout the day.
This happens as a result of my children looking for non existent food.
They go from press to press looking for all the “nice” things.
All the non healthy food that arrived the previous Thursday,
only to be a distant memory by Tuesday.
Wednesday is spent in denial of their loss,
and then we come to panic and “hunger” on Thursday.
I know some of you are remarking at my husband doing the shopping.
Well I’ll let you in on my secret.
When I was six months pregnant on my third child,
seventeen years ago, I got sciatica.
Shopping was impossible, so I asked my husband would he do it.
And he has never stopped, although I assure you I did give birth,
and the sciatica is but a distant memory!
Anyway, back to Thursday.
When they hear their Dad’s car in the drive it is like going back in time.
Back to when they were all little, and used to wait at the gate for him.
A shout goes out, “Dads home”.
Each begins to focus on what they are waiting for.
“I hope he got nice ice cream”.
“He better have remembered we don’t like those red cereal bars”.
“I forgot to remind him to get conditioner”.
As he arrives in the door though, no one moves.
I usually have to remind them to help bring in the shopping.
With moans and groans they do.
However they have no problem unpacking it.
As the last bag is crumpled up and packed away,
they chorus, “Thanks Dad”.
Then leave en masse and head to the sitting room.
Within minutes, one by one they filter back in.
Presses are opened and slowly but surely the shopping that was recently unpacked,
is removed at speed.
As I watch I wonder,
“Will we even make it to Tuesday?”.
And so the week begins again.