While Friday's are my favorite day of the week, I often find that they are the hardest. Friday nights I find myself in a scramble to organize the two days that follow. How am I going to juggle all that needs to be done (groceries, cleaning, diapering, napping...well probably not, but I always have it on my list...and then writing. Which also always seems to be at the bottom). What needs to be done and what actually gets done are two totally different things.
So does one hoof it to the grocery store first thing Saturday morning. Beating the crowds and the people who shop for pleasure.(..you know what I mean? The people that roam the isles with nothing but time.) Getting to the store just in time when there are only three checkers and they are still stocking shelves. Or do I pass on the early riser shopping and sit in bed with my kids and my husband and enjoy a cup of coffee...which is usually cold by the time I actually get to drink it - between the "mom, mom" and the diapers and the bottles and warm sippy-cup milk. There are no wild Saturday nights, well maybe they are wild. Sometimes I stay up till 11pm. Barely stay up. I usually fall asleep with the TV on. Watch out, mad crazy party woman I am!
Then we come to Sundays, which are just plain depressing. Monday is looming in the horizon, but you try to squeeze out every last drop of the day. By Sunday evening I am gathering up, preparing for the week ahead. It kinda feels like working in a restaurant. Preparing for the next day's morning breakfast rush.
When the alarm goes off at 5am on that Monday morning, hatred for that alarm has never been stronger. But as I stroll into the kids room (with a warm cup of coffee...that is a weekday gift) and touch their warm cheeks I realize that I'd take another Saturday and Sunday in an instant.