Let me tell you about my weekend.
On Friday night we did nothing. It was an awesome kind of nothing that involved PB & Js for dinner. We did not bring in the trashcans that were sitting by the curb. We did not pick up the legos that were all over Haysten's floor (though, we would come to regret that in the middle of the night). We did not do dishes, or laundry, or vacuum. We did not take baths. We wrapped ourselves up in underwear and socks (that we had been wearing all day, thanks) and blankets, and watched the last Harry Potter movie on DVD. We ate popsicles, and licked our hands. It was divine.
On Saturday we did nothing. It was an awesome kind of nothing that involved baseball and the National Anthem. We did not make our beds. The trashcans still sat by the curb. We only did laundry enough to have decently clean uniforms. We ate hot dogs from the snack bar and drank Gatorade. We danced in the aisle at the commissary, and cried with both excitement and stress. We sat in the cold and watched Mariah make the only run. Haysten did not see it as he was busy doing nothing in a tree near the edge of the park. When we had dinner, we had a contest to see who could peel their cutie tangerine in one piece. We watched a movie, again in our underwear and socks. We read a bedtime story.
On Sunday we did nothing. It was an awesome kind of nothing that involved sand toys and kite strings. We ate waffles with peanut butter and applesauce in bed. We only got dressed because we wanted to go play in a bounce house, and naked in a bounce house leaves red rub marks (yes, we know this from experience) that sting. We read the poems that were laminated with pink borders and pretty hand drawn leaves. We drank tea with milk and honey. We tried to visit my mom, but after waiting an hour and a half, we ate the KFC and drank the iced tea, and decided to go fly kites at the beach. We buried Haysten up to the neck in the sand, and got completely soaked by a rogue wave. We tied colored strings to our toes and wrote wishes in the sand with and old piece of driftwood. We drove home naked and cold, and laughed until we could not breath. We took warm baths and put on clean pajamas and ate ham sandwiches with tomatoes. We watched another movie, and read another book and cuddled up on the bed until we all drifted into a contented sleep.
This is exactly the kind of weekend I dream about. No schedule, but for a few minor details. No pressure, but for doing something you love for the enjoyment of it in front of friends. No demands, except for having to wind in 300 feet of line and get the sand banged out of the bottom of buckets. No arguing. No crankiness. No rules. No have-tos. No should-ofs.
In the history of Mother's days I will be asked about in the future, wondering what I got as a gift, or how I spent the day, I will wistfully say "nothing" and smile and be happy in the secret of the memory.
