Weekends

On Sunday nights, I often do a personal post summing up the activities of the weekend. We pack a lot of living into those two days, and I like to recall the highlights.

For both Steve and myself, Monday through Friday is largely about duty, obligations, and routine. For me, it’s getting the kids to school, making three meals, and picking up stray Lego pieces from behind the sofa. For Steve, it’s rushing to get the bus to the city and playing his part in the assembly line for money. Sure, there are good moments to the day when we genuinely enjoy the work or find an hour to read something interesting. The weekday isn’t all Oliver Twist. But the weekends are when we really live.

We tend to overschedule ourselves doing all that can’t be done during the week and all that makes us most happy. We try to find time to romp around outside, to brouse funky furniture shops for tables, to escape to an Irish pub on a Saturday night, to visit family, to hang curtains, to visit the city, to make pancakes and bacon, to catch a catnap.

We did most of those things this weekend plus some, and I’m really too wiped out to write a proper post tonight.

On Saturday, Angela, our old babysitter from the city, came out for a visit. We sat on the porch drinking tea, while Steve and the boys rode their bikes in the street. Soon, Bill came out with his three kids and their bikes. Then old Fred rode into the street on his red motor scooter with a flag on the back. With a grin, the old dude mixed it up with the young. It was warm enough for sweatshirts, but the snow still lay on the ground. Bill and Steve whapped snowballs at the kids on the bikes and old Fred on the scooter as they zoomed up and down the street.

Throwing snowballs at the kids on the bikes was enough to make for a great day. It almost got lost with all the other things we did. We need to edit.