It always goes in a flash, an absolutely yet tragically predictable flash. Two breaths, a party or two, and suddenly we’re eating lunch on the last Sunday of the break. And what a lunch to have, a classic of Polish country cooking: kotlet schabowy with the requisite sauerkraut and potatoes. The Girl loves the cutlet; the Boy loves it all.

After lunch, we decide it’s time for a walk: after almost three full days of rain, we’re all sick of being inside. The Boy takes his four-wheel coaster, and the Girl opts for a scooter, but putting the Boy on wheels is always tricky: “I’m Lightning McQueen!” he squeals and with each time, rides further and further out in front of us.

“E, if you’re not going to stop when I tell you to,” I explain after he ignores us a couple of times, “you won’t be able to ride this anymore.” It works for a while, but not long enough to get us home, so he finishes up the outing on foot and in tears.

We have to hurry home, though, because K has yeasty dough rising. “Pół godziny!” K insists as we start out, and sure enough, half and hour later, we’re back in the kitchen as K rolls out the dough for what she calls babeczki, which would be tempting to translate as “muffins” but in this case, it would be incorrect.

It’s one of those things I’m unable to translate, something like cinnamon rolls with a plum and apple jam — leftovers from the Christmas Eve compote — in the place of the sweet cinnamon mix.

With a day ending like that, L and I think we can head back to school tomorrow…