I don't want to go home, Daddy
I was awoken at 7am this morning by the sound of crying coming from the children's bedroom. It was Ollie, he was crying and saying he didn't want to go home. The thing is, I almost felt like crying myself. He wanted to know why we had to go, and I did my best to explain that we have to go back for work and school and that this has just been a holiday, and we have been very lucky to have had it - but it is very hard to console a little boy who has just spent two weeks in paradise. I lay down beside him and gave him a comforting hug, the kind to make you better that only a parent can give. Growing up he may be but I am acutely aware just how much he needs his Daddy to be there for him. I know him so well, all his fears, all his worries, what makes him happy and what makes him sad. I hope we never grow out of the hugs. I know I will always be there for both of them whether they are 5 or 15, or even 50 if I last that long! I think in past generations it was very much a case of...