Does anyone else besides me dread the question, “So, any big plans for the holiday weekend?”
I hate that question. I’ve always hated it. No one seemed to ask it when I was a kid; none of us could afford to go anywhere, and a three-day weekend just meant we had an extra day to play kickball across the street. Oh, and it meant my dad would probably be home resting on the couch, stressing the rest of us out and making us feel guilty if we weren’t helping Mom fold the laundry.
Then I grew up, and everybody asked. It was the topic of conversation the entire week prior at the office. At first, I did have big plans on holiday weekends, because I was dating my now-ex husband long-distance at the time, so one of us was always traveling and it was fun and exciting. After we got married and had kids, it seemed we never did much but fight on a three-day weekend. There were never any big plans; he usually decided to do some project around the house or work in his home office all day. He never wanted to “fight the crowds” to go to the beach or do traditional things.
The years passed…
God, it pisses me off that I can’t just zip down to DC to go out with friends or plan a big day trip for the kids and me. Nope. Now we’ve got this little creature. And whenever I even begin to regret adding him to the family, I only have to see the way my son tumbles around with him on the floor, calling, “Come to Papa,” in his shrill little voice, or watch my daughter play tag with him around the house with her face flushed from happiness, and I know I did the right thing.
So, my “big plans” are just normal plans, if there are plans at all. And as long as I don’t let myself sing the “poor me – everybody else has a life” song, then I really am quite content.