Each Saturday is a day of joyful anticipation in our house.
The hours tick by slowly. The children plead and beg. They question and cajole. It probably should drive me completely batty....but it doesn't, because I feel it too.
It's an excitement almost as palpable as when the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus comes to visit. Though it's more important. Much, much more important.
Because Saturday's are when Mr 11 arrives at our house.
Early in the morning it will start....
'Is today Saturday?' Miss 8 and Mr 5 will ask. When I reply in the affirmative they jump around like a pair of Mexican jumping beans, so great is their excitement.
'When will he be here?' They demand.....'How long until he comes?' They question. Unfortunately I can never give them a straight answer because Hubby picks him on the way home from work and Hubby is never accurate with his time management......which is an entirely different post for another day.
So the countdown is on. They plan the games they will play when Mr 11 finally makes his appearance. They draw pictures for him, they plan his favourite dinner for that night.
Then, when he arrives, he is greeted at the door with shouts and laughter. The poor boy is smothered, hen-pecked, idolised. He is put on pedestal, the much loved and adored big brother.
Of course, the magic doesn't always last. Before long they will be fighting, bickering and whinging.....but for a few, short wonderful moments it's like a cheesy commercial of the 'perfect' family.
Yesterday was a cause for even greater excitement. Because yesterday was Mr 11's birthday. The presents were wrapped, homemade cards prepared, the cake was baked and his requested dinner was cooked. Hubby was (of course) late with picking him up.
But when he arrived home none of it mattered,the hours of waiting were forgotten, the magic lasted just a fraction longer.
Because yesterday was a special day, a day of celebration.
Happy Birthday Mr 11!