At the beginning of November, while discussing our upcoming Saturdays and Sundays, my husband told me to block out two weekends. This was serious. Losing two full weekends of lazing around? This better be really good. Turns out I brought this on myself. When I casually mentioned a couple weeks ago that I wouldn’t mind being surprised every now and then (not so easy with a slightly obsessive compulsive wife who likes to be in control and has pretty specific tastes) my husband accepted the challenge.
I was thinking, like, cupcakes from a really yummy bakery. He was thinking 10 day trip abroad. To an undisclosed location.
This is NOT normal. We aren’t exactly jet-setters. Heck, we’ve never even traveled overseas for a vacation. For us, foreign travel is synonymous with work trips to developing nations. Otherwise, we tend to stay local. I’m a homebody through and through. For real. Sometimes on the drive to church I realize I haven’t been in the car since the previous Sunday morning. As the work week is wrapping up, my husband asks do you have any plans this weekend? In my head, I’m thinking, yeah, I’ve got a list:
- Coffee in bed.
- Cold pancakes at noon.
- More coffee.
- More reading.
- Lounging on the porch with a blanket.
- Reading in bed.
It seems we have different ideas of what constitutes plans. His idea of a successful Saturday is leaving the house right after breakfast, driving somewhere with an itinerary and coming home after dark having been thoroughly enriched and entertained. And I like those Saturdays. We get our cultural tanks refilled. We get some exercise. I remember there are other people outside of our four walls.
It might seem crazy to want to spend the weekend at home after five days of domesticity. But Monday through Friday my home is my workspace. Morning routines and teaching and cooking and cleaning. On my feet for 12 hours. When Friday rolls around I like to have all our chores wrapped up so that we can just enjoy being home Saturday and Sunday. Give me a clean house and a full fridge and I’m a happy woman.
This morning I’m writing and breathing in the heavenly aroma of banana bread baking in the oven. My husband regularly bakes with the girls on Saturday. It’s twofold: the girls need quality time with their father and the bananas I watched decay all week need to get used up. The girls like baking with their daddy. They get to fling batter off the beater blades and sprinkle flour in the silverware drawer and slosh dishwater all over the floor. But I let them eat raw cookie dough, so, ya know, it evens out.
I don’t know where I’ll be waking up the next two Saturdays. I’m excited and open to whatever itinerary is in the works. Hey, if my husband is going to deal with all the stress of planning everything, I can commit to busy days filled with activities. Besides, deep down inside I’m holding out hope that I’ll also get to kick back and drink coffee and read books and get in a couple really good naps in a foreign country.