Friday. Schedule. Strategy. Bathroom Stall Silence.

In Disneyland, I like to visit the restrooms. I wait in a long, hot sweaty line with other desperate women. When it is my turn, I race into the stall, lock the door and am overwhelmed by the sense of peace I feel in my 2 by 3 foot space.

As long as I remain in that stall, with the door firmly locked, it is all mine. No one can cut me off, step on my toes, give me a sideways disapproving glance or ask me for ice cream. Nope. I am calm, quiet and as alone as one can ever be at a theme park.

Which brings me to, well, here we are, another Friday. There is a full weekend ahead with lots of fun and activities. The schedule is tight, though, and it won't feel like a lazy, old weekend, that's for sure.

Our schedule is our guide book around here. I constantly need to check what our next strategic move will be: can I drive to softball, race to baseball and watch a few innings, fly over the hill to carpool pick up and be back in time to softball? How can I split my schedule so that I can be in at least 2 places at once?

It used to be that I looked forward to the weekend. I wanted to sleep in, be lazy, hang out and get a few things done around the house. Now I rest up the rest of the week so that I have a shot at surviving weekends.

It's funny how life is, here I am on Friday, knowing that tomorrow, there will be moments that I'll wish that I could lock myself in a bathroom stall and just breathe.

Saturday Mornings

There is something about Saturday mornings that makes me want pancakes. This requires butter and pure maple syrup. Bacon is an extra bonus, but it is not always worth the time commitment.

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.