Recovery

They left the village yesterday at 5 a.m. on a horrid rainy Monday, driving down the motorway to Heathrow, and meeting a one hour delay on the M25. Poor Isaac. But they made it to the gate in time and now they're home in Colorado, and our house is tidy and quiet. 

Back to normality. I'm blogging in my pyjamas and Dave is in the kitchen, listening to Today and ironing. The guttering we keep for making marble runs is stashed back in the attic, along with the yoghurt cartons, and we're eating the oatcakes the girls made with Dave and couldn't take on the journey. We have a jar of conkers they collected and Cece's conker on a shoelace. Lux took one home to show the kids in school. Hey ho.

The girls were droopy with sadness to say goodbye. I was too tired to be sad, but now I'm bereft.

One of my favourite times in the week was going for a family bike ride on the Trail. I've waited so long to take the kids on there...

...but I have to say it's pretty demeaning when your 7 year old granddaughter shoots off into the distance and the only way you can catch her up is to shout her to stop for a photoshoot. Isaac tried to cheer me up by pointing out that Cece cycles at altitude at home (a mile high where they live) so is mega fit, and that's why she zooms off like a rocket. A noble effort but I'm not convinced.