What weekends mean to me

X 6.7.14

Now that my wife and I are 2 years into the parenting gig, weekends have evolved into something different than they used to be. Our Friday and Saturday nights used to involve karaoke, live music, spending of time and disposable cash with friends.

We used to drink, too, so weekend mornings usually meant headaches and sick stomachs.

Our nights end much sooner than they used to, and our Saturday and Sunday mornings start much earlier. Sometimes, like this morning, they start when our nights used to end…

Our eldest had something akin to night terrors at about 3AM. It was really scary for us as parents. He eventually got back to sleep around 5. Then he and I were up at 7 when the sunlight started poking through the gaps in the curtains. Ready to rock and watch some Saturday morning Curious George.

Today reminded me of a Saturday about two years ago. We were set to walk downtown to the farmers market. As we were leaving the door, Jonah puked all over his outfit. We got him cleaned up and just as we were heading out, we heard some loud tummy rumblings and a big, productive squirt. On our third time heading out the door resulted in another poopy diaper. I don’t believe we ever made it to market that day.

It had been our intention to walk down to┬áthe farmers market today, then go out to brunch with my parents, and then go up to my wife’s parents’ cottage. I think we’ll hit the latter two. But, I guess the point of today’s writing is to give thanks for days that are set by my children’s schedules and needs, by the rhythms of nature, and not by my work demands or by other kinds of obligations (or hangovers). I cherish these slow days, even when poopy diapers, extreme baby vomit, or lack of sleep prevents us from doing the things we planned.