Saturday, November 15, 2008


I've never been so breathlessly anxious for the weekends as I am since I quit working in a real live office. Even back before I had a 26-pound wind-up toy running around the house, I loved Friday nights and Saturday mornings. Existing on my own all week long can get boring and lonely, and feels like just as much of a grind as when I had to put on real shoes at 7am and worry about parking the car close enough to my office that I didn't have to slog through too many puddles in my nice clothes.

Our weekends aren't exciting around here, but they're just so weekend-y; hanging out in bed, wearing sweatpants, eating waffles, going out for ice cream. But since we bought this house I've sort of ruined most of them by rampaging around the kitchen on Saturday mornings, enumerating all the stuff that needs to get done or we're all going to DIIIIIIEEEE. There are pictures to hang and bookshelves to fill and clothes to wash and leaves to rake, and OMG the weekend is going to be over! It will end in 48 hours and then whatever will we do when the pictures are still lying on the living room carpet instead of hanging on the walls?

It's a wonder Jeff doesn't slip some Valium in the maple syrup on my waffle.

But today we got a few things done and took time out to go to the park and ate Thai food for dinner. And the laundry is still dirty but so far we're not reduced to wearing those outfits that lurk in the back of the closet for those times when everything else is in the hamper. And none of has self-destructed because the to-do list isn't complete. So maybe I should remember this weekend the next time I think I've got to do everything in a two-day period.

Either that, or start drinking mimosas for breakfast.

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