I’m seem to vaguely remember looking forward to Saturdays. Faded memories of late mornings and sugary breakfasts hide in back corners of my mind. And the photographic proof of long drives and quick vacations taken on Saturdays contain images of someone who looks just like me, but I can’t hardly imagine being that free.
Were Saturdays only fun when I was just a kid?
Were they fun when my own children were younger?
Were they fun when we had a little more money? (wait, no, scratch that. we’ve never had a little more money.)
Were they fun when we didn’t have so many activities?
Were they fun when we lived in Oregon and could drive just down the road to something worth seeing?
It’s hard to remember. It’s hard to remember looking forward to Saturdays!
Saturdays are now filled with marching band, soccer, dishes, laundry, groceries, chores, yard work, recycling, anything I couldn’t get to during the week because of the 3yo and anything the kids couldn’t get to during the week because of school and activities.
One thing we never seem to “get around to” is having fun.
Just like you somehow accept that cooking your own birthday dinner is normal or buying your own Christmas present is the way to go, somehow adulthood manages to convince you that Saturday isn’t in fact a day off, it’s a day to catch up, put all shoulders to the proverbial wheel, and push through to the next week.
Man, I just realized something. In adulthood, Saturday is the New Monday.