Sleeping in, you say? What’s that like? It’s Saturday. A rainy, dark Saturday with wind blowing small trees into feathery arcs bending and waving wildly. A steady staccato lulls me back into unconsciousness even as my hand reluctantly leaves the blankets to shush my alarm clock for the third time. I force my eyes open and roll from the bed, my feet thudding onto the carpet. It’s Saturday.
I spend almost all of them this way. It’s the choice we made when we decided thirteen years ago to home educate our children. But then some well-meaning friend posts a cute reminder on Facebook to remember that there are only 940 Saturdays between my children’s births and their eighteenth birthdays. And my heart feels like it just collapsed into a smashed prune, for just a few minutes, as I contemplate the loss of all those glorious Saturday mornings with snuggles and cartoons and picnics and mundane trips to Target.
And then I remember. There is nothing magical about Saturdays unless you have also squandered the Mondays-Fridays. There may be 940 Saturdays, but there are approximately 5,634 other days to read stories, eat ice cream, have tickle fights, kiss little noses, go to Target, and have discussions that fill your heart with more love than it can hold. So make every day count- whether or not you can call its name “Saturday.”
(And guess what just happened? Saturday just slipped into Sunday before I could get this posted, because I was enjoying watching a football game on the couch with my crazy bunch even if the day did mostly consist of being a nurse instead of a mom!)