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While it’s still fresh in my mind

I have had an awesome weekend.  Absolutely perfect in every way imagineable.

Saturday was full of football and beer and family time.  It was fabulous.

My Bulldogs won. My son was an angel. I got a nap.

There was beer and buffalo sauce on grilled chicken fingers.

It was perfect.

I went to bed that night with a feeling of contentment and rightness and peace.

Sunday was more of that.  We had a good morning together as a family and then Joshua and I went to visit an old friend.  I had a great time catching up with her and Joshua warmed to her, so that was nice.

Dan went to his Fantasy Football draft and got to spend some “guy time” doing guy things.

And then we came home and meshed our separate and different afternoons into a nice evening of being together and watching t.v.

As uneventful as that sounds, it was perfect for us.

Today was full of great weather, quality time spent with friends and family, and red wine.

There were babies napping simultaneously and then playing with each other in relative peace.  There was food and friendship and the making of future plans to visit the pumpkin patch.

Then there was more good food and conversation and time spent with family doing crazy family things like eating crab legs and making a mess all over the kitchen.

The father-in-law and I had red wine and discussed our love of a good glass of vino.  We talked about school and work and anything and nothing.

Joshua spent time with his grandparents running around their house and being sweet.  Then we went outside to soak up the last of the day’s sunshine and beauty.  He ran around their yard and we all chased after him, smelling the smells of outside.  Enjoying the distinct feeling of fall in the air.

It was a wonderful weekend.

One of those storybook weekends that I want to keep forever so that I can push the repeat button in my mind and live it again and again.

I love days like today.  And weekends like this weekend.

Weekends when there are no expectations except that we enjoy ourselves and each other.

Weekends like this give me the sort of confidence that I need to know that I can do this. Without meds. Without the crippling fear of royally screwing up my child and sending him screaming for a therapist as soon as he can speak.

Weekends like this one tell me I don’t suck at this mom and wife thing.  That I’m actually pretty freaking awesome at this.  That I’m all sorts of good at the delicate balancing act that is being a mother and a wife and a friend.

Weekends like this are the weekends when I am a participant in my own life and not just an observer.  I tickled my son and he laughed so hard he couldn’t laugh anymore.  And I laughed too.

I scooped him up when he was tired and breathed in his tired baby smell.  And he rolled over and snuggled into my chest and breathed his contented sighs of tiredness and exhaustion after a full day of activity.  Contented sighs that tell me I’m raising a happy child.

I loved my husband and appreciated him for the things he does for me and Joshua.

Weekends like this tell me that one day, hopefully one day soon, everything is going to be permanently okay.

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