It is 5pm. I am in my study, trying to get a few frantic emails off before I start cooking dinner.
The boys are in the backyard. Mr4 is running around with a lightsabre stuck down the back of his shirt, Ninja Turtle-style. Mr7 is bashing away at the totem tennis, whilst singing an assortment of songs at the top of his voice.
At regular intervals, they call me. “Come and play with us, Mum!”
“In a minute.” Standard response.
Suddenly, Mr7 bursts through the backyard. “Mum, you have to come and see this AWESOME sunset!”
The cursor blinks on my urgent email. Blink, blink, blink.
I turn away from its accusing glare. And run to the backyard.
“Red sky at night, fisherman’s delight,” Mr7 choruses. Then, an anxious look. “Does it still work if it’s pink, Mum?”
It does. I grab the camera and take a terrible picture of one of those lovely, fleeting moments we have with our children.