On Friday my little boy looked at me and asked; 'Mum, why don't we go on adventures any more?'.  It stopped me in my tracks.  Our 'adventures' started when my daughter, Rosie, was born as a way of creating some special one on one time with Will.  So, on the weekends when my husband was around to look after Rosie for a while, I would whisk Will off for a morning of 'Rosie free' fun and adventure, a chance for us to spend some time together larking about like we used to without the demands of a newborn to tend to.  Over time, as Rosie has grown and Will is now at school full time, finding this one on one time has proven more and more difficult.  This Saturday we reclaimed it and went on a magical mystery tour.

'Where are we going, mum?'
'Aha, you'll have to wait and see!'  (read - 'Don't actually know, hoping for inspiration as I pull off the drive')

I slurp on my big takeaway insulated mug of black, sugary coffee and frantically rack my brains.

It comes to me. 

I remember seeing an intriguing path dipping away from the road down between the trees and vaguely recall someone telling me of a little known park in that direction.   We park up and I refuse to give in to Will's demands; 'Mum, TELL me, where are we going?', enjoying building up the anticipation for him to experience.  He scoots along happily through the cutting, alongside a delightful stream and a boardwalk with unusual bog plants and grasses.  We spot butterflies and genuinely delight in enjoying the experience of these new surroundings together. 

Then I spot the park, and it's a good one - there's a zip wire and swings like ski lift seats.  I'm no longer his mum but his 5 year old friend haring around, equally as keen as him to try out the new park. 

Happy boy Will

On the way back to the car, I realise it's not the end destination that's so important about this experience, more the fact that for that short space of time he has my undivided attention.  I can carry his water bottle, his coat, and chat with him about why butterflies don't fly in a straight line without having to balance his demands with those of my daughter.  This, I realise, is what makes the experience magical for him, and for me too.