I was at my friends house after school on Friday and we were talking about our plans for the weekend, as you do. I said we were planning on having an At-home weekend, quite possibly in our pyjamas for much of the time, and I was really, really looking forward to it.
My friend looked slightly alarmed and asked if we would be ok staying at home all weekend, wouldn't the children drive us nuts? Wouldn't we be climbing the walls, desperate to get out? Didn't the children need to be excercised? Wouldn't they go mad if they were cooped up all weekend, and wouldn't it all end in tears? Because this is how it is in her house I guess. But in the Attic24 house, we have become very good at making At-home weekends work.
True, we don't seem to have them very often, and as it happened, we didn't stay indoors for the whole of the weekend :: we managed a short trip into town on Saturday to buy ourselves some magazines, and on Sunday a walk round a local reservoir and a wonderful Sunday lunch at a village pub.
But essentially, as planned, we were delightfully, cosily, happily At Home.
And it was good.
The top picture is of our living room. Do you call it a living room, or sitting room or lounge? I think we say living room, haha I'm not sure now I'm thinking about it! But anyways, whatever the word, its the room that we spend a lot of time in, especially during the weekend. We haven't decorated this room yet (well we haven't decorated any of the rooms yet), it remains as we found it when we moved in last year. And all the furniture came from our old house so consequently it's a little shabby, in need of a makeover, and generally quite untidy, but it is homely, relaxed, bright and warm, and we love it.
And this is our coffee table, as it looked this morning after the weekend was over. This table is never, ever, ever free of stuff. It is permanently in use, mostly as you can see by the Little People. You may remember me talking about this a while back. Oh I go through phases with this table. At times I rage with the Little People and despair at the state it is always in, beseach them to tidy their things away when they've finished with them. But mostly I've come to enjoy seeing them use this little table, love that they do various colouring/drawing/reading/roleplay/creative/construction activities here, that I can glance at the table throughout the day when they're at school and know that they will be home soon to carry on where they left off.
The table itself is nothing special :: I rescued it from the storage shed of our little local playgroup when they were having a clear out last summer, as it was destined for the skip. I had fully tended to give it a makeover, possibly involving white or duck egg blue paint, but never got round to it. And now I'm not sure if I do want to paint it after all. It's quite worn and scratched, but I like that. I'll do what I do best and "ponder" it for quite some time more.
So this weekend, the little table was in constant use.
Magazines were browsed and coloured in.
Stories were read.
Afternoon tea was enjoyed (do you like my new spotty cake tin?? Tesco's, two tins for £4. Bargain? Yes wasn't it just!)
And during the later afternoon, at 4pm or thereabouts, J declared it to be fire-lighting time.
And so we settled down in front of the fire, using the little coffee table to hold an informal picnic tea. Actually, I would like to say a little something about this food here. On Saturday afternoon, I said to J that I wasn't going to cook :: I quite often bake at the weekends, and quite often refuse to cook meals. So he volunteered to go to the supermarket to buy non-cookable provisions for an impromptu At-home picnic. He came home with grapes, marinated olives and peppers, Chorizo sausage, a hunk of Wensleydale cheese with Autumn Fruits, some delicious little goats cheese and poppy seed cracker bites, and a french stick.
I was suitably impressed.
It was an utterly delicious picnic.
The rose wine just added the final rosy glow.
I am so very grateful for our happy home life.
It's so very simply good.
And I try not to ever take it for granted.