Why can't weekends be relaxing? It seems as if the weekends are filled with run, run, run...clean, clean, clean...laundry, laundry, laundry... I wish I could take the weekend and do nothing. That's right, nothing. My selfish version of a weekend would be something like this. I could sleep until whenever I wanted to get up, instead of being woken up five times in 15 minutes until I get out of bed at 6:24 on a Saturday. Maybe even stay in bed, by myself, and read a book that doesn't have pictures. I could watch something other than Dora, Diego, Super Why, or Thomas. Eat something other than leftover mac and cheese or chicken nuggets. The unselfish version would include a trip to somewhere fun, lots of play-doh and paint, lots of books with pictures, hide and go seek, checkers...but no damned laundry and scrubbing of bathrooms.
Unfortunately, I must be productive. 7 loads of laundry done today, floors mopped, clothes put away, children fed, children clean, fights averted, boo-boos kissed.
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