I Want to Be a Weekend Mommy

            “Why are you so grumpy?” accused my three-year-old as we sat on his bed in the dark.  He was right.  We had completed the bedtime routine and depleted my patience.  He jumped around on the couch during bedtime snack.  He wiggled off the toilet and left a bit of a mess on the floor.  He was distracted by puppy tattoos during tooth brushing time.  So, after getting hit in the face by his pillow for the third hit during story time, I was done.

            He was just being an active three-year-old at bedtime.  His behavior is not out of the ordinary for his age, or for himself at any time, to be honest.  Why was I so grumpy? It was a weeknight.  I needed to finish loading the dishwasher and take a shower.  I had to go to sleep and try to be rested for my job requires me to talk and pour into others for seven hours the next day.

            Fast forward to Saturday.   We started out slowly—my favorite kind of morning.  I sipped on coffee and made bacon and eggs for everyone.  We took a walk together before the clouds rolled in.  When the rain came down, we sat on the back patio soaking in the sound and sights of a summer rain.  “Can I pway in the wain?”  he asked.  “Oh sure.”  Weekend mommy is more go with the flow.  We have more snuggles and smiles at naptime on the weekend. That afternoon, we ran through the sprinkler together and filled up the wading pool.  I took pictures of my happy boy and the blooming flowers that had grown from the seeds we planted three months before.  Weekend mommy is not rushed, therefore not stressed, therefore kinder.

            Ugh! How can I be weekend mommy all the time?  Well, essentially I can’t.  One thing that makes the weekend so special is that it’s not every day of the week.  I need to keep a mind of peace despite the fatigue and pressure of the daily grind.  I should dust off that yoga mat although I have been known to fall asleep in child’s pose at the end of a long day.

            The other night I was wiped out and frustrated by my son’s repeated attempts at averting sleep.  As I lay in the dark in his bed, he started tracing my lips with his finger trying to force them into a smile.  While I shouldn’t plaster a fake happy mask over the real mood, I can work to change my frame of mind.  I need to be thankful for my precious fleeting years with this little one, for one day I will yearn for them.  Just as he traced my frown, I choose to trace the timeline back to beautiful moments we’ve shared:  holding and staring at him when he was a baby, chasing his giggling little self around the kitchen, or hearing him say, “I wuv you.”  I cannot be a weekend mommy every day because I can’t have a weekend every day, but I can make each day count by being loving mommy every day.