Super Saturdays

I absolutely love Saturday. It is my favorite day of the week. It is the most optimistic of all the days, the most relaxed, the most free. The world lies before you on a silver platter. For once, I feel like I've captured a little bit of that elusive thing called "time".

I love to crawl out of bed before everyone else and steal a few minutes alone. My early rising companions, Bo and Daisy, often join me on the back porch to enjoy the pleasant morning breeze. Some days I read, or write, or talk on the phone to fellow early birds like Mama Dearest. Other days I may just enjoy breakfast in peace.

I love to lounge around for hours before getting dressed. The morning kids' shows with BigGirl and Littlest Princess, internet surfing and blog reading are all well and good, but mostly - it's just delaying the chore of getting dressed that I enjoy.

I love propping up on my bed after it's been made. My bedroom, gently lit by filtered sunshine, is a cool and relaxing place. It's even better when the house has a slight chill, making my throw blanket necessary for cozying.

And Saturday television is the best. Years ago, when it was just the BigGirl and I if FireDaddy was at the station, we enjoyed the occasional (OK, so maybe it was more "routine" than "occasional") PBS marathon. For years I was too cheap to pay for cable, so PBS was the best choice around for weekend viewing. We knew what time the cooking show marathon began and we'd memorized the lineup like pros. America's Test Kitchen, Fast Food My Way with Jacques Pepin, Everyday Food, Daisy Cooks!, BBQ U, and Julia child: Lessons With Master Chefs. We both stayed glued to the screen (and our seats) for hours. (Yes, I know that was not the best parenting move for my child's developing young mind. But, luckily, she doesn't seem to have been harmed by my negligence.)

Even as the day comes to a close, even if you realize you've completely wasted away the day, you've still got the hope and promise of one more day off. Sweet, sweet, Sunday...but that's another post.

Sadly, I cannot say I spent my day like this today. I did enjoy some early morning quiet outside with my doggies. I did spend a few hours, after returning home from necessary weekend errands, propped on my bed (even if it was behind my computer working on school stuff). I did get in some quality giggle time with my girlies (even if it was flanked by bickering and whining). And, best of all, I am, once again, putting myself to bed banking on the promise of Sweet Sunday. Tomorrow, I hope to never leave the house at all.

Pssst! This weekend, if you get a chance for some relaxing internet surfing and blog reading, be sure to stop by my buddy's blog. Even though she's in Portugal right now (and has posted some GORGEOUS pics of her vacation), she's hosting an anniversary giveaway. Just keep your paws off the coffee cozy. It's mine, babe.

Photo credits: Library of Congress photostream on Flickr

My One Regret

Summer is such a wonderful time of year for me. I love how relaxed, how carefree, how stagnant I become.

Now, you might be wondering, if I was so relaxed, carefree and stagnant, why wasn't I blogging more this summer?

Um, hello? When I said I was stagnant I was not referring to my rear end...well, too much. What I was referring to was my BRAIN.

I remember, as a child, going back to school each year after seemingly everlasting summer vacations and realizing that I had lost all dexterity in my hands. My muscles actually forgot how to write. The simple act of holding a pencil in my hand felt oddly foreign to me. It was a feeling much like trying to write a word that you're sure you know how to spell, but for some reason, at that moment, you stare at the letters like they're Greek until, finally, you turn to a neighbor and ask, "Does that look right to you?" At which time they nod and look at you with suspicion, wondering what person in their right mind forgets how to spell their own name...

Try as I might, I have not been able to figure out a way to function in the world as an adult without picking up a pen or pencil for two months. At the very least, those pesky sales people demand I sign the credit card slip. This may be the reason I've developed the tradition of offering other body parts an opportunity to atrophy during the summer months.

While I am not a person who has experienced much success at truly relaxing (I'm neurotic, remember?), I do enjoy rotting my brain. I have to admit that I have many fond memories of summers spent camping out in front of the predictable agenda of daytime television; sitting Indian style* at my coffee table, enjoying a homemade spinach, tomato and mushroom personal pizza for lunch, watching Starting Over; rocking sleeping babies all the way from Regis & Kelly to the end of Martha Stewart. For a few months of every year, I take pleasure in watching General Hospital. I even enjoy the initial stage of momentary confusion (and it is truly only momentary) while I try to fill in the blanks of a year's worth of storyline.

I'm sorry to say that I did not wallow in my summer this year as I have in years past. Perhaps it was the presence of my little shadows. Perhaps it was their own strong opinions about what channel we should be watching. Perhaps it was the absence of any sleepy little babies requiring multiple daily naps. Perhaps it was the growing workload accompanying my growing family, or my growing sense of responsibility to the world around me (a.k.a. screaming children, barking dogs, and my ever-expanding behind) compelling me to get up and do something.

I strive to live a life that will allow me, in the end, to look back and say, "I have no regrets." This summer, I failed. I regret that I did not spend more days in my pajamas, watching mind-numbing, slightly entertaining, daytime television this summer...because I love that.

I suppose there's always next year.

*I know this term is, apparently, politically incorrect now. However, this is what we called it when I grew up and it is what I THINK when I think of sitting cross-legged on the floor. In my classroom I call it "criss-cross", or when I taught 1st grade, "criss-cross applesauce". But this is my blog and I can call it what I want, so there.