I’m coming off my second weekend in a row where no makeup and pajamas ruled. I liked it. A lot. In fact, I liked it enough that I’m wondering why the hell I ever did anything but the bare minimum on weekends.
Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Kids.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my babies. But the minute kids pop into your life, they take over your schedule. First its diapers and food. Then it’s playdates and food. Then school activities and sports. (And still food.) In between it all you fight to wiggle in date nights and scraps of the activities that feed your soul–if you’re lucky.
It was in the quiet moments of the last two weekends, I asked myself (repeatedly), “How much of what we get ourselves into is necessary?” I look back at my childhood and don’t remember it being so busy. I remember Saturdays as lazy play days. I remember church on Sundays and a nice lunch right after. I remember dad listening to football on the radio. I remember mom kicking us all out of the house to go spend, “quality time with dad.” Translation: Get out of my hair so I can have some peace and quiet.
I do NOT remember endless sports activities or birthday parties to rival a debutant ball. I don’t remember us getting up early and scrambling like crazy people on a tight schedule.
I wonder if I’m remembering it wrong? Maybe I was just a kid and didn’t have any responsibilities back then, so it just felt easy-peasy. Maybe mom and dad were darting around as frantic as hubby and I are today. I’d ask mom, but she’s earned her luxury stay with the big guy already (and is probably laughing her ass off at me). Dad says he doesn’t remember.
I do think I’ll try to hang onto what the last few weekends have given me and try to do a better job of challenging what ends up in my weekend to-do list. I’ll encourage my kids to pick one activity and to do it well rather than cram an entire rainbow of interests into one season. I’ll think twice about agreeing to my own outside obligations. I’ll try to fill every weekend that same easy-going air I remember from my youth so I can pass it on to my kids. When I feel the guilt begin to pile on too much, I’ll encourage my inner child to say, “Oh, yeah? Make me.”
What about you? Are your weekends (or weeks) chaotic? Do you agree to too much and then regret it in the end? Are you comfortable pushing back and dropping items you’ve agreed to when the weight becomes too much to bear? How do you remember your youth? Was it as busy as things seem today?