Ever since I went back to work when my twins were four months old, Fridays have been my "day off," the day I'm home all day with them. I dreaded Fridays in the early days once I realized that time at work was liberation from the endless cycle of bottles and pumping and naps and diapers. And I dreaded them, too, when the kids were toddlers, and the day was an unbroken battle against potty accidents, nap rebellion and my own disinclination to cook anything.
Since they hit three and four years old, however, Fridays have been fun more often than not. When the weather is good--that is, most days in Colorado--we take walks, play in the park, maybe hit the rec center pool for a half-hour swim lesson. Ruth and I still nap. Will doesn't usually nap, but he's gotten very good at leaving us alone when we do. So mostly these days I look forward to Fridays.
The exception is when I had a bad night's sleep the night before.
Like last night. Ruth has come down with Will's cold. The croupy cough she always gets with these kinds of viruses woke her up three times. Will also woke up three times, no longer due to his cough, but due his perennial problem of bed-wetting.
Friday is also my day off from exercise. While it's usually nice to be able to sleep in a bit, on the days when we're up six times with the kids (like last night) "a bit" of sleeping in serves only to make me more grouchy, and I don't have my endorphin fix to counter that. And it always seems to follow that these Fridays are the ones where Will decides he does want to interfere with my nap.
People wonder sometimes why I like to run. I can tell you one big answer to that is that after a long day like today, where I felt like a sullen high schooler forced into a babysitting epic, a 10-mile run in air fresh with melting snow sounds like heaven.
No matter what tonight is like, tomorrow I'm headed for heaven.