Around 11:40 AM on any given Saturday I start to get antsy.

I pace around the house and hover around the back door, hoping to catch a glimpse of his car pulling into the driveway.

The dog becomes aware of my sheer excitement and starts to follow me around, tail wagging.

The girls sense that they are about to have Daddy to themselves for 36 solid hours and are giddy with laughter.

It’s my favorite time of the week. I listen for one sound only, the chime on the security system to alert me that Superman has entered the building …..

It’s a special time folks.

And there it is: “CHIME!”

It’s amazing how such a sound can make my heart leap with joy.

We all dash to Dad. Everything is better now. It’s not as if it was awful prior to his arrival but I’ll admit that not only are things more fun when Dear Husband is around but everything is easier.
To prepare for his arrival I have made sure that the laundry is done, lunch is almost ready, the house is tidy and all of the errands and shopping are done so the only thing left to do is enjoy each other’s company.

I love and appreciate the fact that my husband can come home from a mentally and physically demanding job and jump into parenting 101 with full force and never seems to mind or complain. He needs as much, if not more, down time as I do but here he is, taking on two girls who can’t wait to tackle him with a weekend full of activity.

This is what I live for.

Saturday afternoon is always easy breezy and kids exhausted from play with Dad retire easier than normal. Saturday night evolves into date night.

In the world of “Mom,” this is heaven.

But as usual, Sunday morning comes and low and behold a cosmic shift occurs. No matter how hard I try, we are not easy like Sunday morning in this household. I wouldn’t trade having my husband here for the world but it seems that we cannot work out Sunday morning kinks. Or maybe I just don’t fit into the fun.

I am the official buzz kill.

This particular Sunday, I was given the opportunity to sleep in and I did – my first mistake.

I entered the scene around 8:30 AM and I sensed an immediate sense of alliance. The girls, the dog and dear husband are all sitting around a breakfast feast; the scent of bacon is in the air and everything looks picture perfect. I should be able to fit right into the situation but it becomes fiercely obvious to me that I should have never gotten out of bed at all.

They are all snuggled in on the couch watching cartoons and eating. We all muster our hellos and I inspect the surrounding areas. The house I spent the entire week cleaning has been destroyed. I have only been upstairs without my family for an hour. There are crumbs on the floor, there is food smashed into the rug. There are blueberry stains on pillows. I see the love and happiness between my husband and children so I ignore the mess and I escape to the kitchen for my caffeine. I then stumble upon dishes and pots and pans. They are greasy, they are warm and they need to be washed.

SIGH.

I have gone from well rested to tense and irritated in 2 seconds flat. The little voice inside of my head talks me down and I remember that this day isn’t about cleaning and it isn’t about sticking to my regimented routine. It is about relaxing and being together as a family. I try to breathe.

My eldest daughter has declared Sunday, “My favorite day of the week because Daddy is here and I can finally have FUN!” Grrr…..

My sidekick, my compadre, my numero uno, my youngest daughter who never lets me put her down, will suddenly only allow Daddy to pick her up and do things with her.

I can feel my skin start to crawl.

This is what I want…this is what I crave….hello!? It’s the coveted “alone time.” Take it woman – run with it.

Nope…. I am starting to stew.

One day with “Daddy full of fun” and I am last weeks old meat. Hmpfh.

I try to shake it off but its getting harder. I want to fit into this scene. I want to be fun, I want to have fun. Why is the blueberry stain on my new red and white pillow calling me louder than the lunch picnic going on inside the fort that they built?

What happened to me? Why am I not fun anymore. Why do I care if the pillows are now looking like the American Flag?

I used to be the girl who danced in the bar until last call. I could let dishes sit in my sink for a week and I certainly didn’t wake up immediately remembering I needed to vacuum up crumbs from the night before.

What has happened to me? And WHY hasn’t it happened to my husband?

Maybe this is just part of the dynamics of marriage and parenthood. Part of the inevitable roles that we embrace (or get shoved in our face). One ushers in balance and demands that order reign above anarchy. The other remembers what its like to be a kid and can evolve into the free spirit when needed, able to ignore the chaos and just have fun.

Was I given a vote in which role would become mine? Somehow I did this to myself….

I do suppose that it’s only fair that for one day a week Daddy should get to reign supreme and know what it feels like to be the center of their universe, especially if there is a chance that he spends the rest of the week feeling half as uncessary as I do just once a week. Everyone should know how good it feels to be that important.

Besides, come Monday morning, this mom knows she will retake her throne and spend another week as best friend, boo-boo kisser, fort builder, play dough shaper, and yes, rule maker. At least until next Sunday morning…

Last 5 posts by MusingMom

• Keep Away, Grinch - December 22nd, 2008
• Getting off the crazy train... - January 9th, 2009
• No Village Idiots Here... - January 20th, 2009
• Where's MY sticker? - February 22nd, 2009