Weekended

It happens every Friday. I think, "Sweet! It's Friday. Tomorrow's the weekend. It's going to be awesome!"

And I'm almost always wrong.

I find weekends extremely challenging. Rob is home which, in theory, should make things easier. But often, the opposite is true.

Not that Rob sits on his ass and does nothing. He plays with Westley more or less nonstop. But one more person at home means more variables. Getting everyone fed, showered, dressed, and out the door takes more time when "everyone" is three instead of two. And while Rob and Westley are playing some tag/hide-and-seek hybrid game in the back yard, I feel pressured to do everything around the house that I feel I can't do with a two-year-old shadow.

Mostly though, the challenge comes from my own longing for a "real" weekend. A two-day period where my job more or less stops, and I'm free to do something cool. I look at my husband and feel envious: he's off work right now; he's the Fun Parent; am I really loading the dishwasher for the third time today?

And then there are the emotional aches and pains of nostalgia for our old, child-free weekends. If only we'd known how good we had it!

Not that it was ever that great, looking back. You know what Rob and I used to do on the weekends? Just guess.

Nothing.

Kind of like this, except me instead of the kitty, Rob instead of Westley, and a styrofoam container of Ho Fun instead of Bert.

That's right. Not one damned thing. We would sit around all day, maybe order Chinese food, and watch movies or TV shows on DVD. If we were feeling particularly adventurous, we might put on "real clothes" and head out to the Union St Caffe Ladro for late-night lattes and pie (this was pre-veganism, pre-gluten-freedom), and then catch Theatresports or some other improv show with comp tickets at Unexpected Productions. Wild times!

The thing is, those weekend days weren't all that great. Sure, we actually got to sleep in. Lying around and doing nothing, while not exciting, was a valid option. But we were fatter and unhappier then. There were no trips to the park to enjoy the sunshine.

And no impromptu picnics.

And not a single slide.

Yeah, I'd still like a break. I still fantasize about the world that leaves work at 5 or 6 PM on Friday evening and doesn't go back until Monday morning. I miss the pie and the improv shows. But the "those were the days" nostalgia over my old weekends has got to stop.

Because while I may cook more and rest less these days, my life now beats the crap out of my life then. Any day of the week.

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