Why can't all weekends be this long?
There's no urgency to completing the chores. The laundry gets done and hung and put away. The slow cooker works its magic.
There is still time to cut out a new dress and start stitching it together.
Still time to read a book out by the treehouse in the sunshine, with the dog pottering about, sniffing every rabbit hole just in case.
Plenty of time to stay calm about The Girl's maths exam on Wednesday. It's not too late to understand parabolas or volume or those bizarre functions that I am certain I never needed to know about at 14... or 46.
And there's still tomorrow to come.