Don't get me wrong...

 Hello, Saturday.  

It's been a short while since we've had quality time together. Truthfully, I haven't looked forward to your presence as much as most do, or as much as I once did, over the past couple of years.  I know, you probably think I'm some sort of traitor.  We used to have such a fun, carefree relationship.  I used to look forward to you for six days out of every week, anxious and anticipatory for each of your coming arrivals.  I used to spend days thinking about you, longing for you, planning for our time together.  I used to invite or seek out others to join us in our rendezvous.  We made so many wonderful memories together, you know.  So many big and exciting things would happen when we were reunited after our long, exhausting days apart.  Oh, Saturday, you were one of my greatest joys in the course of each tiring week.  Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy the idea of you, Saturday.  I still enjoy your existence.  You just don't hold as much meaning as you used to.

You see, there's three busy little people who occupy most of my minutes when you roll yourself around again.

Don't get me wrong, I love them dearly. But let's be honest, there are some things I miss.  I miss some of them on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays as well. 

I miss being able to sleep in, Saturday.  I miss the feeling of waking up after a deep sleep, well rested and refreshed.  I miss sleeping past seven in the morning, and then lying in bed until I felt it necessary to wake up.    

But, I do enjoy the look on three little faces as they ask me to wake up as I pretend to sleep.  Their blue, green, and brown eyes all smiling at me and cheering when my own eyes open to greet them.  Sure, I might not get to use the bathroom in a timely fashion, having to change a diaper or two and wait my turn for those who can't wait as long.  But, there's something to be said about the joy on their faces that helps me rise out of bed much earlier than I ever wish to.  And while my two-year-old still sleeps like a newborn and I'm constantly exhausted, I must remind myself the early years go way too quickly.

I miss having silence in the morning.  Don't get me wrong, the laughter radiating from the living room as the three of them reunite after a night's sleep.  Sure, the annoying voices and simple story lines of morning cartoons can be quite irritating when I would prefer nothing more than a quiet morning to read, but the excitement in my kids' voices is pretty adorable.

I miss having someone to talk to.  Don't' get me wrong, my children can all speak and carry on conversations now, but I miss in depth talks with someone more my own age.  Whether it be a husband, a roommate, a cousin, a sister, a brother, or a friend, for most of my life, I have had at least one person my own age living with me.  There was someone who understood my jokes, my fears, my dreams, who could carry on an in-depth conversation that didn't revolve around bathroom habits, toys, the desire for juice or poptarts, or tattling.   

I miss the effortless planning of a cup of coffee or a meal together with someone my own age.  Don't get me wrong, I still drink coffee, and I definitely have the company, but I do miss not having a tiny person commanding me to "take a drink" and "set it down" every twelve seconds just out of her own personal amusement out of being bossy.  I miss sitting down at the table and not having to worry about cleaning up the floor because my company can't figure out how to not smash their cereal or drop their grapes.  I miss not having to wipe off my lunch-mates face because they eat a peanut butter sandwich open-faced and from the middle.  Don't get me wrong, its pretty amusing to see the messy faces and all, but having to clean up so extensively after each meal gets to be a pain.  I also miss having people to cook great meals for.  Don't get me wrong, it's nice that sandwiches and nuggets, waffles and fruit are easy to prepare, but its a bit depressing to make a delicious casserole or soup and having 2/3 of your dinner guests tell you it looks gross or that it is made from leaves and is completely inedible, refusing to so much as try one bite.

I miss the ease at which running an errand once was accomplished.  Don't get me wrong, my children are well-behaved most of the time for any sort of errand we run, but when all I need is a gallon of mile from the gas station two minutes away, it's exhausting to spend ten minutes to get everyone ready, into their car seats, drive there, unload them, walk them in, bypass all the treats, get the milk, pay for it, take them to the van, get them back in, attempt to coax them back into the apartment, take off the outer wear, and put the milk away...  The same goes for needing toilet paper, when your youngest secretly tears up what you have and throws it square-by-square into the toilet before handing you the empty roll.  

Don't get me wrong. I love my life, and I love my children with every fiber of my being.  

But, from time to time, I do miss my old friend, Saturday, and the relationship we once had.