The last two years has been a bit of an adjustment for me. Even outside of how my life changed marriage wise (separated, divorced and then re-married), and career wise, I didn’t expect so many other changes and adjustments. Most specifically, I’m talking about Saturday mornings.
When I had my boys, I quickly realized that sleeping in was a thing of the past. Six a.m. breast feeding sessions turned into 7 a.m. rattlings on the crib, and later one or both of them climbing into bed with me. As they got older, they learned to get up and turn on the T.V. and fix themself a bowl of cereal. With the hope of one of Dave’s all-star breakfasts, however, it’s hit-or-miss as to whether or not they will take the cereal or knock on our door until we wake up, in hopes of french toast or omelettes. Yea, our Breakfasts with the Beatles are THAT good.
In the past year we have had the biggest change to our Saturday mornings. This one is probably the hardest to adjust to… Sports. While waking up and stumbling to the kitchen to get coffee and relax on a Saturday morning is one thing, having to set the alarm to make sure we’re at the field early enough is an entirely different playing field.
Our Saturday mornings have turned into another workday morning.
Instead of asking, “Do you have your shoes, homework and lunch?” I find myself repeatedly asking, “Where are your shinguards, uniform and cleats?” It’s exhausting! While I appreciate the fact that our Saturdays are ours after the games are over, I know I’m not alone once we get to the field. Sitting in our lawn chairs, we’re surrounded by parents who look beat up. Our massive thermoses filled with coffee should have an IV into our bloodstream, and as our kids sweat it out on the field, we struggle to stay warm on the sidelines. With our pale faces and bags under our eyes, we look like a sad group that’s been up all night drinking rather than a segment of the population that could just use a nap. Or a vacation.
So here I am at 9:03 Saturday morning. My coffee is next to me on the desk and the air is cold thanks to a night of rain and thunderstorms. But the game is still on. And I’ll be on the soccer field sidelines in less than an hour, cheering Thing 2 on and hoping for a win. However when the game is finished, the day belongs to the parents (she says with a sinister laugh). There’s laundry to be done, a sink full of dishes and trash to take out. Well… OK. Maybe Saturday afternoons don’t belong to the parents either. Maybe they belong to all the chores and tasks that weren’t done during the week.
Here’s hope for Sunday.