We used to cook big breakfasts around here. The kids would be up early and running around the house. The TV would, of course, be blaring kid's Saturday morning shows in the background. We made hot chocolate, squeezed fresh orange juice and actually set the table with plates and cutlery.
By noon, taking one look around at the kitchen damage, you knew you had just eaten a real breakfast. I swear I worked off all of the extra bacon and pancake calories just doing the clean up.
Now it is Saturday. It's 10:30. The house is as quiet as the local library. I can hear a bird singing. Someone out there in the neighborhood is using a blower. It is me and the dog. Husband, asleep. Girls? Asleep. John? At a friend's house.
There was a time, before baseball and sleepovers, that we really had family time on the weekend. The weekend was a sigh of relief after a long week. We could relax, hang out and spend some downtime together.
Now, Monday is a relief. The weekends are a rapidly changing schedule and there is never one Saturday like another. There is always a different practice time, slumber party, play date or game.
If you have young kids, treasure the weekend. It becomes a logistical nightmare that I think only will change when I have an empty nest. And then, well, the nest will be empty.