“ARE you getting excited about your holiday?”

A week ago and the answer would have been an embarrassed “Not really”. So much to do at work (summer is our busiest time); so much to do at home (sorting out the final practical and legal details of my late mother's estate), still struggling with contact lenses (but determined not to be beaten), so much to do to get everything ready for my son for his next school.

As the days shorten, the prospect of getting everything done seems more daunting and less likely. The stress levels rise...

Last year my son and I misjudged our respective holiday commitments (they seemed all such a good idea at the time) that we weren’t able to get away.

This year would be different. '

He's so excited about your holiday,' a teacher informed me when I picked him up after his taster day at his new school.

I recalled the ideas we discussed in the depths of winter. They seemed such a good idea at the time, so onerous now.

But a promise is a promise. A quick call to the bank to extend my credit card limit (funny how they are keen to lend you money when you don't have any...) a flurry of internet activity, and the holiday was booked.

But as the departure date loomed closer, so my misgivings loomed larger. All very well borrowing money from the bank, but at some stage it has to be repaid. And chores at home, like the garden hedge, grow prolifically with neglect. And a crisis at work always erupts the moment I switch my mobile off. Being indispensable feeds the ego; it corrodes peace of mind.

But the day before we are due to depart, I am transformed…

The optician calls to say that my contacts are in. One trip to the shoe shop and sports store and we have all the kit we need for the start of term. My colleagues at work return from leave and give me confidence that I can leave everything in their capable hands.

And as we pack up the rucksacks determined to travel light, and have decided what we will take and what we will leave behind and which item is best located in which nooks and crannies, my energy levels rise and the excitement we both feel becomes contagious.

"I can fit that in here," my son volunteers.

"Sure it’s not too heavy?" he asks, concerned that as I try the backpack on, I am likely to topple over backwards.

And then I remember back.

Last year excepted, it was like this every time. Always too much to do before we go. Always too much to do when we return.

But the doing, the sharing, and the break from routine cares and concerns makes all of it worthwhile.