Friday, I love you. You make all things seem possible. Yes, I can (did) go running first thing this morning. It’s Friday. Yes, I can do the laundry. It’s Friday. Yes, I can go Christmas shopping in the City with the boys today. It’s Friday. I can sleep tomorrow. I can rest tomorrow. It’s the weekend. Tonight Micah and I can stay up as late as we want and fold clothes and watch shows on Hulu and drink hot cider. Because it’s Friday. We made it through a tough week and now it’s time to breathe.
Or did we?
It’s Friday, but Micah still has to work late tonight. And Manchild has a school activity tomorrow. There’s a book signing in the City I want to take the boys to. It’s our turn to watch the kids for our baby-sitting co-op. I have packages to mail at the post office. And we have church meetings in the evening. Oh, and somewhere in there Micah may have to squeeze in a few more hours at work. So maybe we’ll just keep going, full steam ahead. We can catch our breath some other time.
Until then, maybe we’ll just pretend every day is Friday.
I wrote this earlier today, and then . . . well, let’s just say Friday’s tend to make me overly ambitious. Hahaha. Never a dull moment . . . that’s my motto. And please, someone with more experience than I have, tell me that the laughably unfunny days end when you no longer have children in diapers. Please?