I used to work in retail, so had few and far between weekends off, and when I did they were an Event. I would be visiting someone, or attending a particular event, or someone would be visiting us.
Even when I had one day off at the weekend, it was a desperate race to fit in everything that needed to be done; sleep catch up, entertaining/stimulating family activity, visit family, housework, family meal time, ‘Date’ night, gardening, clean car, shopping and so the list went on. Weekends weren’t fun, they were stressful and pressured to be perfect.
I always tried to do so much on my weekday off, but then I would get resentful that the Big Big Man spent his day at the weekend with the Big Little Man having fun, because I’d done all the sodding housework in the week.
It wasn’t good.
And making plans…nightmare…’Shall we meet up for the weekend 6 months from now?’ say my uni friends ‘No’ say I, ‘can’t do that one, my deputy manager is off, can’t do the week after or before because three other managers in the area are off, ah, and I can’t…’
That said, when I got to work I enjoyed it, I had a great bunch I worked with and there were always entertaining stories on Sunday mornings. And Sunday was always cake day. Or doughnut day. Or jam roly-poly day.
But on the whole, it sucked.
But now…ahhh…there is no rush, there is no pressure.
Big Big Man and I can even do things INDIVIDUALLY, without feeling guilty there’s been no family time, because we have TWO WHOLE DAYS!
We can each have a lie in. We can choose Friday, Saturday or Sunday to cook a nice meal. We can stay all day in our pajamas if we feel like it, because we have tomorrow to go to the park, or the museum, the lakes, the beach hut…We can be a family on our own terms. And because I don’t work, there’s usually no housework to do (or I just ignore it, knowing there’s a whole week for it to be done).
I love weekends now. And there’s no wanker customers who are inside shopping on a beautiful summer’s day instead of being at the beach to annoy me. I swear, I will NEVER do that.
Weekends are precious times, they are gifts to my children of adventures and exploring, jumping in muddy puddles as hard as they like, of eating chocolate biscuits for breakfast and Mummy not being too tired to help them write their alphabet or tickle them until they can’t breathe. And they are gifts to me, memories of my babies being happy and showing them new delights.
To me they are priceless. And I am not prepared to sacrifice them again.