I home educated so Saturdays were a day like any other with a bit of laxness thrown in.
Leisurely wake up with the endless rearranging of small furry objects (girl) and writing notes to girl about when she would be available to come to his 'cafe' (boy). But this time was spent separately.
Breakfast with sugary cereal and Minecraft YouTube. Twenty minutes one to one learning time with one child while the other does practice times tables/phonics/whatever on a screen, then swap.
Then whatever learning project requires attention (if not done earlier) - weather station, cleaning lambs' bottles, investigating how effectively the plants deprived of water/light are dying (girl moved to tears, boy wants to deprive all plants of water/light), child led baking in which everything has to be done by the children (if they don't read the recipe, it doesn't work and that's that).
Take the muffins and sandwiches to the woods and meet/make friends, lose children for two hours and remember they exist when they arrive back looking considerably the worse for wear, decide on the way back that we will read books/finish an art project/ride pony/go the cinema/park (usually different incompatible decisions).
Text husband and ask him to please for the love of God put the batch cooked meal beside the oven inside the oven as I am now counting the minutes until his watch begins.
Start the last activity which turns out to be surprisingly enjoyable given the rising levels of discontent around choosing it, distributing hot chocolate if children are soggy following unspecified incident while lost in forest, long discussion about what marshmallows should be made available and why.
Watch children sit down to tea with all necessary fruits and vegetables, check there is a commitment to eat same and crawl thankfully away to curl up with a book, realise boy has left a dandelion on my pillow and love him desperately before wondering what to do with dandelion as he will ask.
Listen to the raucous merriment of their dad being everything I am not in his precious hours with them (but why does it have to happen right outside my bedroom, can't he murder them somewhere else?), start to field text messages from husband who is overwhelmed at the behavioural chaos he has invited, followed by trickle of visits from children needing to hear that Everyone is very disappointed there has been a Violent Incident which is being taken very seriously (girl)/everyone understands it was An Accident but it's still kind to apologise as there was definitely a bruise (boy),l
Utter chaos from the bath followed by more visits from very sweet bedraggled children now demanding stories (what the actual fuck, do they never sleep), more text messages from husband detailing each child's emotional state and why this apparently calls for more milk and a cracker - or does it?- advise rather sharply to be more boring in future.
Tiptoe out the front door to go the cinema and notice a betrayed face scowling out a bedroom window, return to apologise for trying to sneak off and promise to kiss when sleeping, make second attempt to leave without a backwards glance.
Remember the Asda shop at the cinema and spend the entire film asking husband to count how many tins of custard and other such fuckery in the larder until answers stop arriving (he's asleep), return to husband who is, by a coincidence, just about to make the kitchen look less like a bomb site (he had to put a pre cooked meal in the cooker, how has this spawned so many frying pans?).
Tell husband the plot of film and break down in tears because it was So Beautiful, agree that I'm overtired and should go to bed with cracker that husband has handed me out of habit.
I'm divorced now and my ex husband got residency of the children because I had a breakdown. I see them once a week for a few hours. But that was how we spent Saturdays. Until we didn't.