There’s something about Sundays that always brings me sadness.
I wake on Sunday mornings, realizing that this is the last day of the weekend, the last day that we are all together, as a family, for five more days.
My family is at its best when it’s the four of us, together. We work best that way.
When Craig is at the office, a piece of who we are is missing, a piece that adds spark, fun, spontaneity, silliness, and love. Without him here, there is an emptiness.
I’m all about the small moments. I don’t wish away a single day of this life. We made a vow when Katie was first born to never say, “I can’t wait until she can walk…talk…run.” Because to wish for those things was to not appreciate the here and now. To wish for those things means that the here and now is unimportant, or at best, less important, less magical than the current moment.
But on Sunday mornings, I feel the strongest pull to wish away time…the desire for it to be Friday again. To make the next five days fly by.
And each and every week, I promise myself that I will view the weekend glass as half full…there is still an entire day ahead of me, but I must admit that I fail miserably each week and end up spending far too much of my Sundays dreading the next day. I catch myself counting the hours left and they always fly by far too quickly.
What begins as melancholy on Sunday morning evolves into sadness by afternoon and into teariness by evening.
Sundays are not my friend.
But Craig? He is magic. He truly is.
I scored. I really, really scored.
I would give anything for a lifetime of Saturdays with my little family…
This post is linked up with Stream of Conseiousness Sunday, at allthingsfadra.com
This kind of writing is challenging for me. It leaves me vulnerable and often with a better understanding of what I’m feeling, as I can’t self-censor my thoughts.