It's Saturday

{notice two things about this picture, if not the fact that my daughter is a monkey... 1. she's wearing a DRESS and 2. she's wearing a TUTU! Two things that have suddenly become more than acceptable for Paige...}

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It's Saturday.

Lucas has worked late every night this week, and today, for the first time in the history of us, he has to go into work on a Saturday.

The kids and I head north to a BBQ hosted by a long time friend of mine, at her parents house. A house where I spent many a night in high school. Huddled in sleeping bags in the finished basement, giggling and telling teenage girl secrets and wondering about teenage girl things. The paneling holds some deep thoughts from my fourteen year old self... I didn't sleep much at their house, but my face always hurt the next day from laughing and smiling so very much.

We have fun, the kids and I. We play baseball and soccer. Fynn makes a ball thrower {I do not know the technical name of this thing, you push a button and it throws balls...} into a spaceship and amuses many of the guests with his "Three! Two! One! Blast OOOOOOFFFFFFFF!!!" He runs around with a plastic ball throwing contraption over his head, smiling and flying in any and all directions the wind blows him.

I say hi to a few people. Don't get to visit much... but that's okay. I miss Lucas. A few friends from a different life and I hug tight. And say pleasantries with meaning. Friends I hadn't seen in far too long.

It's Saturday.

We come home to an empty house. Kids wired from an exciting afternoon, climbing the walls {trying to use the thermostat for footing...} the easel, the couch... Mommy tired and punchy.

I've been punchy a lot this week...

Lucas comes home and takes the kids for a walk, giving me the quiet in the daylight time I've been craving all week. I want to write. I want to read. I want to make dinner without someone pulling on my leg and trying to pants me {seriously, it's the kids mission when I wear yoga pants...}

And I want to listen to Ingrid Michaelson. I always feel inspired and full of soul when I listen to her voice, hear her words.

But the media player on computer isn't working, so I embark on a search for my mp3 player. I know I unpacked it from my trip to New York. I just can't remember where I put it...

I go to my closet, the handle sticky from lollipop hands, enter the abyss of clothes and camping equipment and photo albums and Christmas decorations. I don't see it.

Hands sticky, I go back to the kitchen.

Remember another spot in the abyss that it could be... so I go back to the sticky handle {which is still sticky, as I type... hey... it's Saturday...} and it still isn't there.

Back to the kitchen, and there it is in the stationary basket on the counter.

I know the kids and Lucas are coming home soon so I start dinner, forgoing the writing and reading...

Put my ear buds in and let my hips sway and my heart sing... washing, chopping, creating a masterpiece of a Greek salad. Wait for my husband and my babies to return to a happier atmosphere and a lighter heart, open arms.

Thoughts of sticky handles and big hugs and sweet memories...

It's Saturday.