It’s the weekend.
On the way home from school we went to Starbucks for a 1/2 price Frappuccino and then stopped to watch the airplanes take off. One of our favorite stops, me and the Pickle.
I love weekends.
Being a stay at home mom, my weekends seem to be the opposite of mainstream weekendry. For me (and maybe you, too), weekends mean:
- Someone is home besides me… and P.
- Turning off the alarm.
- I don’t have to have eyes in the back of my head for 9 hours.
- I probably won’t clean much… or cook, if I can avoid it.
- Napping on the couch with my husband.
- Seeing my child delight in going to her Sunday school class.
- Loud, unrestrained, heart-cleansing worship.
- Sunday dinner at the inlaws (read, 5 more sets of eyes to watch the Pickle so mine can take a break)
So basically, even though I’m home most of the week anyways, when 3 o clock on Friday hits, I am still breathing a deep sigh of relief. The sky is bluer. The grass is greener. The house is cozier.
And for 48 hours there is a slight chance that I may actually get a shower in.