Working for the Weekend

I always look forward to the weekend, when I can spend time with my kids and my husband after a busy week at work. My energy level usually bottoms out sometime during the late afternoon on Thursday and by quitting time on Friday, I am ready to say goodbye to the office and hello to 48 hours of free time at home. But more and more, it doesn’t quite work out that way.

You see, weekends at home with two small, boisterous children under age 4 is just a wee bit chaotic. I’m not complaining  – I knew what I was getting into when I signed on to be a parent and I did so willingly and gladly and gratefully. I love my kids and wish I could somehow  spend more time with them, especially now that they are growing and changing so quickly right before my eyes.

But that’s not to say  --  especially in the past few weeks when my 1-year-old son decided to become very mobile and very eager to eat anything he finds on the floor -- that I haven’t allowed myself a few nanosecond glances back to the pre-kid days.  Back then, weekends meant loafing around the house or going out and doing whatever I pleased, all by myself, whenever the mood struck me.

These days, weekend life with my children is mostly one big fetch fest – fetch the girl some chocolate milk to go with her lunch just when you’ve just sat down to yours. Or fetch the boy before he scoots himself over to the dog’s water dish and dumps it all over himself. Or run to the store to fetch more milk and diapers because we’ve run out of both.

Add to that all the routine care and maintenance associated with taking care of two people who are dependent on us to do just about everything for them and you’ve got two exhausted parents finally flopping down on the couch for a breather sometime around 9 p.m.

By the time Monday rolls around, time’s up and what we didn’t get done over a weekend just doesn’t matter anymore. It’s time to switch gears and get back into the routine of the work week.

As much as I miss the kids while I’m at work, I admit that I heave a little sigh of relief when I get in the car to drive downtown to my cubicle. Yet by the time I get there on Monday morning, I’m already thinking wistfully about the weekend that has just passed. All the tantrums and troubles forgotten, I start counting the days until we’re all back home together again, driving each other a little crazy. But also watching my daughter and son playing together and having a good time (most of the time).

It’s no coincidence that Monday is the day that I spend the most time randomly staring at the photos of Lucy and Isaac on my desk.