I haven't really decided if I like weekends as much now that I'm mother to three-under-5. They don't really feel that much different than the weekdays. No more sleeping in. Same old weekday morning routine of doling out bowls of Chex, cups of milk and squeeze packs of applesauce while bouncing a crying baby on a hip and trying to shovel in a mouthful of eggs here and there. "Date night" is the fancy term we now use for running out to grocery shop in peace at night without little ones spilling out of the cart. Eh, I know as well as the next person that a day's coming soon where I'll look back on this time and feel all the warm, fuzzy, wistful feelings but for now I'm allowing myself a few minutes of wallowing in a bit of good old whinging, ok? At least until I've had my cup of coffee.
Coffee. Now that's what I look forward to on weekends. Matt runs down the street to Lemonjello's and gets me my favorite black iced coffee that I'm slightly suspicious is laced with crack, because they are that good and addictive and - fine, I'll just lay it all out there: I've gotten one every single day of the week for at least three weeks now and I'm sure Dave Ramsey would give me major stink eye on that one, but - no shame here, Dave. No shame at all. Happy mom = happy family and my iced coffee makes me happy happy happy.
Life, as it is now in all its messiness and noisiness and busyness, really does make me happy. I'm still getting used to it, and I do have my moments of snarkiness, but really - it's very, very good.