This morning, at 6:00, as I fed the monster, I reflected back to the many different times in my life, when the weekend signified many various things….
1976: I was born. The weekend meant nothing.
early 1980’s: The weekend meant I went to my Dad’s. He lived a whopping 1/8th of a mile down the road. There was no sidewalk at the time. That made it very treacherous.
late 80’s: I was in middle school. The weekend didn’t really mean much. Other than long days of frollicking about the neighborhood.
1990’s: High school. The weekends just meant not getting up early. Not doing much of anything actually. Just chilling.
1994-1996: Genesee Community College years. I was a commuter. My friends all lived in the dorms. On the weekends, most of them went home. And I worked at the Pok-a-dot. So, the weekend meant: Money!!
1996-1999: SUNY Utica. The weekend activities often varied. During sports seasons, it usually meant an overnight road trip to a far off destination (Fredonia, Buff State, Potsdam, Plattsburgh). If not a road trip, I could count on a trip to Franco’s for a sub and pizza and possibly a little bit of youthful partying.
1999 – post college: I had this job in Utica. And I hated Utica when I was no longer in college. So, I eagerly anticipated each and every weekend. I would hop in my red Chevy Tracker and travel the 2 hour and 15 minute trip home and back.
2000: I moved to Raleigh. Had a job. Made more money than I should have for only being 23. And the weekend meant a rock solid block of partying.
2001: I stopped the partying. The weekend just meant getting my shopping done, cleaning, relaxing, etcetera.
2002: The Derek Lidbom years. On the weekends, one of us would travel to see the other of us. So, we both looked forward to the weekend.
2003: We got married. I didn’t have a job. I stayed at home all by myself all day. I hated it. The weekend meant that I had a person to talk to. I looked forward to it more than ever.
2004: I started teaching. The weekend still meant time with Derek. Time to do things. Time away from school. Time to work in the garden, clean the house, wash the cars, mow the lawn, do some shopping, etcetera. It has pretty much stayed that way until now:
2007: The boy was born. For the 1st six weeks, the weekend meant I got to have an extra set of hands to help out with him. Now, after a full week of work, and having Isaac spend the best part of his day with Jena, the weekend means I get him back. I get to hold him. And watch his ultra sad pout I’m-about-to-cry face. I get to feed him. I get to do all the good stuff. That’s what the weekend means now.