Weekends Are For

I always think I’m going to get a ton of work done on the weekends and I never do. I think about doing work. I even plan to do work. I’ll tell Jesse, “I need to work.” I’ll pack my bag full with notebooks and pens and books to read and mark up. I’ll leave the house and go to the spots I go to during the week so as to promote that “Callie put your butt in the chair and write” feeling. But the most I ever produce is little scribbles on the backs of receipts or my hand, or the church bulletin or the inside cover of one of the girls’ coloring books.

Things just feel different on the weekends, don’t you think? I think they might not be for work.

Weekends are for Peter Pan birthday parties.  They’re for sitting around the Lost Boys’ campfire and wondering if they’ll show up. They’re for playing Throw-The-Hula-Hoop- Around-The-Crocodile’s-Neck, and they’re for walking the plank.

Do you see the ukulele on the table (sort of next to my beer)?  While the kids were running around at the party, Jesse and I sat with the other parents and chatted, and one of the dads picked up the ukulele and began to tune it.  He played that song Judd Nelson’s character plays in the Breakfast Club. You know the one I’m talking about? Is it a Led Zeppelin song? Anyway, he played and we chuckled while the kids ran around Neverland.

Weekends are for finding new pizza places. Weekends are for having so much fun that you stick around for ice-cream and games underneath penguins listening to headphones, or, “radio penguins” as Harper called them.

Weekends are for staying up past your bed time and singing songs on the way home from the new pizza place.  They’re for giggling over the fact that your daughters know all the words to Taylor Swift’s songs, and they’re for, “Mama can you take us to a Taylor Swift concert sometime?”

“Ummm, maybe.  We’ll see.”

“What concerts have you been to, Mama?”

“U2, Dave Matthews Band, Salt-n-Pepa…”

“Who was the Puffin guy? The one you asked for his autograph?”

“You mean Hootie and the Blowfish?”

“Yes, will you tell that story about the time you saw him in the hallway of your school and asked him for his autograph except you thought his name was Hootie and it was really Darius and he said, ‘My name’s Darius!’ Will you tell that story again?”

Maybe weekends are for retelling stories while the new ones are happening.

Happy Weekend to you.