Is this normal? Do all children have such an insatiable appetite to do stuff, or is it us as parents who have the appetite for not parenting? Didn’t we all get by with a trip to the local swimming pool twice a summer and the rest of the time was spent riding a bike and looking up Barbie’s Skirt. I wasn’t born in Victorian times, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a ‘woe is me’ post. I clearly had a lot more to do than our fathers pushing spoke-less wheels down cobbled streets for fun, I am not complaining. I’m just saying that I felt like my time was full, I don’t remember getting bored and I don’t remember needing 1,000 hours a week of planned, scheduled, diarised activity. 

I am willing to accept my memory may be starting to fail me, a life time of wheat grass shots and pilates will do that to a man… but Archie’s calendar looks a little like Bill Gates’ schedule mapped out to 10 minute intervals. As if there wasn’t enough going on at one point this week Lexi and I very nearly took on a new dog, an awesome looking fella came up for rescue but we were pipped at the post by a slightly more charming and eligible family.