Monday: We all enjoy a blissful day off and celebrate the long weekend with a walk around the lake. To Miss 17’s disgust, this family activity involves her as well, as she was too slow to grab the public holiday shift at work. I take beautiful photos, Miss 17 busies herself with our border collie, Hubby tries to talk about the three days we’ve just spent with his parents and checks that I still love him, and Miss 11 falls off the flying fox.

Tuesday: “Second last week of term!” I announce gloriously at breakfast. Miss 17 sets me straight — this is an 11-week term. A concept chosen by the education department to viciously punish both parents and teachers alike. We run to pick up our click-and-collect groceries, and I realise I managed to keep our costs down this week by forgetting to buy any actual food, milk, or meal ingredients. I briefly wonder if half-price pizza shapes are an acceptable lunch option before admitting defeat and reordering groceries for the afternoon. I work from home while baking honey jumbles.

Wednesday: “I love you, but you have to figure this out for yourself” I tell Miss 11 as she asks me to pack her lunch. I’ve recently started a new writing project and I’m going to be busy for a while, so I’m trying to prepare the girls. Miss 17 is fine, but Miss 11 is visibly upset. I hold form while dropping them to school and having a busy morning at work, but crack at 11.30 and head into town to buy her sushi. Tuna avo rolls in hand at the front office at her school, I am asked the question I’ve been dreading all year, “Would you like to take it to her classroom for her?” See, this is the first time I’ve set foot on school grounds all year, and I have no idea where her classroom is. I admit this shamefully and accept directions, but the smile on Miss 11’s face when she sees me at the door has me thinking crazy thoughts about volunteering.

Thursday: Hubby has a doctor's appointment that I’m joining him for, but I can’t shake the hot flush that overtakes my body. As a result, we walk into the doctor’s room, and I shout hysterically about HRT before they both remind me it’s not my appointment. I sit in the corner and drink iced water and glare at both of them.

At 10.45, I head off to work — I’m interviewing children for our Kids Talk section today. I arrive at the school with my honey jumbles in hand and meet up with the assistant principal, who remembers me from last time. “We LOVED your caramel slice,” she informs me. I try not to let this go to my head because I’m currently one compliment away from opening a bakery.

I talk with the kids and receive some of the cutest answers ever. Afterwards, instead of heading home, I pick up my best friend, and we head out to Molong. We have lunch at a café, then walk along the creek. No platypuses were spotted, but it was a gorgeous way to spend the afternoon.

Friday: I attempt a sleep-in but am woken by a 17-year-old who loves me desperately, just wants a cuddle and a chat, and by the way, can she borrow the car? She accidentally slept in herself, which according to her is Apple’s fault, and she neeeeeeeeeeeds to drive. I would have been far happier if she’d just stolen the car and let me sleep, but I can’t admit that.

I surprise Hubby, Miss 11 and most of all myself by spending the next seven hours actually writing, without one side quest to find aquatic mammals or to create MasterChef-worthy baked goods. I did, however, text Miss 17 and point out that since she has my car, she can bring home dinner for us all.