There was a time in my childhood when I truly thought that Saturdays were a different colour.
I was a strange kid.
But seriously, for weeks and weeks I would get up and out of the house to play on Saturdays at a different time than I did for kindergarten, therefore the sun was at a different angle, and the day was a different colour. And that colour was magic!
Saturdays were the days I could eat Wonder bread with butter and cinnamon and blow bubbles so they'd stick to the shrubs in the yard, chase butterflies and gather up worms and watch my cats stalk grasshoppers in the yard. (This was before we started keeping kitties safe inside.)
Now Saturdays are the day I start off with a delightful cuddling session with V in bed that lasts for at least an hour, and then once we get up it goes downhill from there. I actually dread her tiny voice saying "Is it time to go into the liven room Mama?" Damn.
I start off with washing the diapers, then wade through the dishes, make a fried egg and french toast for V, might try to pick up the living room and pull out the vacuum if I haven't decided it is too much effort, oh wait I forgot my tea, I should really eat something, check the internet, kill a few dozen carpenter ants...
This is not magical. Or fun. Or fulfilling. And honestly by noon on Saturday I'm generally exhausted and cranky and haven't managed to do anything constructive with V and now I'm feeling like a total mom failure.
What the hell happened?
To be fair my time management totally sucks and I'm hoping that working a full time job will force me into being more on top of things during the week so I'm not so overwhelmed on my one full day off.
Yeah, wish me luck with that. Now I'm off to get another cup of tea and introduce my daughter to yet another television show to melt her brain and mine. Mommy of the Year I am.
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