Weekends; when working mothers continue to work, just in a different place, on different assignments. I love the weekends. I love having breakfast with my kids. I love having dinner with my kids. I love having their friends over after I run around like a crazy lady shoving things in drawers and closets. And I love going to my kids’ soccer games on hard-to-find fields in hard-to-pronounce towns.
But sometimes, I’d like a little downtime. Time to nap. Or write. Or put the stuff I crammed in the closets away. Or nap. That’s why I told my husband I hope my daughter’s team doesn’t make it to the playoffs in this weekend’s soccer tournament. I’m game for four matches – two on Saturday and two on Sunday; I think that’s just plenty. But if the team makes it to the playoffs, that means more games Sunday night or Monday, and I could think of 648 other things I’d rather do with that time.
Do you judge me? What if I told you my daughter heard me? And I don’t care.