Sometimes I need a weekend for my weekend. I'm never out of bed by 8:00 on a Saturday morning.
Saturday mornings are sacred. Don't mess with them.
But this weekend I submitted to a fifeteen month old - that mop of blond hair and blue eyes kill me everytime. Those footie pj's are a hit too as far as I'm concerned.
I may not have gotten on a plane but after a loooong week capped by a longer Friday it was time to get in the car and drive away for a bit. And there's something calming about a town like Quincy. Maybe the pace, maybe that everyone knows everyone else, and probably that all I'm expected to do is eat. Eat almost to the point of immobility.
"Seconds?"
I always overeat on the road...it's part of the commitment.
And certainly since no one in my family oodles over each other as they do....family outside of the ones that lived in my house growing up. No one stops by just because it's Sunday, or makes sure to call on birthdays or is invited along for dinner.
The closest thing I can compare it to is my Dad's Mom, who rejoiced in people's presence, and made you feel like a million and a half bucks. Then my heart is heavy; heavy for what isn't. But then I have these moments of NOT being part of someone's family, of sitting at their table and lounging on their couch, and riding in their car on the way to bowling...that's more than a million and a half.
Saturday mornings are sacred. Don't mess with them.
But this weekend I submitted to a fifeteen month old - that mop of blond hair and blue eyes kill me everytime. Those footie pj's are a hit too as far as I'm concerned.
I may not have gotten on a plane but after a loooong week capped by a longer Friday it was time to get in the car and drive away for a bit. And there's something calming about a town like Quincy. Maybe the pace, maybe that everyone knows everyone else, and probably that all I'm expected to do is eat. Eat almost to the point of immobility.
"Seconds?"
I always overeat on the road...it's part of the commitment.
And certainly since no one in my family oodles over each other as they do....family outside of the ones that lived in my house growing up. No one stops by just because it's Sunday, or makes sure to call on birthdays or is invited along for dinner.
The closest thing I can compare it to is my Dad's Mom, who rejoiced in people's presence, and made you feel like a million and a half bucks. Then my heart is heavy; heavy for what isn't. But then I have these moments of NOT being part of someone's family, of sitting at their table and lounging on their couch, and riding in their car on the way to bowling...that's more than a million and a half.
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