Last Thursday night I rashly promised M not to worry. I would organise a caravan trip away on the weekend. I planned to do most of the packing/strategising while Small Z had her midday nap on Friday, as we planned to leave on Saturday morning. It seems I do not learn. It seems I am part goldfish.
Small Z and I met up with E and Small E in a park halfway between our two houses on Friday morning. After a few hours of hardcore playgrounding, Small Z conked out after five minutes on the way home in the car. I mused whether to continue driving to elongate the nap, or to head home, cutting the nap off at the 15 minute mark with no guarrantee that it would continue once we got inside the house. I drove on.
As it turned out, Small Z got a 45 minute nap, we went to the big fruit store in Somerville, and then hit a nearby op-shop to do a bit of caravan equipping. We got some plates, bowls, cutlery, plastic containers and other odds and sods, and felt very happy with ourselves. By the time we got home there was to be no more sleeping. Instead I packed all the things she would need for a night away, put all the op-shop bits and bobs in their new caravan home, and sorted dinner for us. I felt very accomplished.