It’s strange to be at the beach on a Sunday night. Sunday night is when everyone packs up
and leaves the island, and traffic is clogged as we speak, going westbound
towards home, to obligations, and to musts. Right now, I’m sitting here looking at this.
It’s quiet here now.
As a mother of four, I never thought my life would be this quiet. When my kids were ages seven, five, two
and one, I never thought I’d have a moment to myself. There were always bubbly baths to give, hungry mouths to
feed, and tiny laundry to fold.
There were car seats, high chairs and diaper bags to pack. There were ages and stages to share
with other moms, there were activities to carpool to, and lunches to pack. Not that I’m not busy now, but it’s
different. My “kids” are now 21,
19, 16 and 14. All double
digits. I remember when my oldest
turned 10—what a big deal it was!
Then there were the teenage years to deal with--middle school, and high
school obligations and concerns. I
remember one year in particular when I had each child in a different school—one in
college, one in high school, one in middle school and one in elementary
school. That year there were lots
of bills (college), emails (high school), projects (middle school) and
volunteering (elementary school) to deal with.
This coming fall I’ll have two in college (shout out to Virginia
Tech and West Virginia University!), one in high school, and one in middle
school. The brood is becoming a
smaller unit. Where we used to be
a family of six, we are now a family of four most of the time. Travel is so much easier; dinner reservations, a snap. But it’s not the same—something’s
missing. Isn't it hard getting older?
Sunday nights are for planning, and looking forward to the
week ahead. They are all fresh starts
and quiet reminders of things that are on our agendas. But they can also be melancholy. Personally, today was the first day I
had not run in six days--reason alone for the melancholy! That’s
not the norm for me. I’m usually
busy working, weight training, and running, and it’s hard to fit it all
in. In the summer, I get to relax
and do whatever I want to, without obligations, without musts. So I’m choosing to run more often.
On this Sunday evening, right before the day gives way to
night, I will look forward to tomorrow.
Tomorrow has possibilities, whereas today may have had disappointment
and failure. Tomorrow has light,
whereas today, the light is almost gone.
Tomorrow is the future and today, almost past.
Tomorrow, I look forward to my run. A day of rest gives me the realization
that the daily chore of running is not really a chore, it’s a blessing. It makes me happy, it gives me energy
to do the things that I enjoy, and it affords me the happy, worn out laziness that I earned with my sweat.
As we close the book on this long holiday weekend, I’m almost giddy that tomorrow is Monday.
On any of the other 42 weeks of the year, that’d be grounds for blasphemy, but during these ten
blissful summer weeks, Monday will be a joyful experience, and I’m ready for
it.
Do you get melancholy on Sunday evenings?
Do you EVER look forward to Mondays?
Are you at a different stage in your life, trying to figure it all out?
See you soon,
Robbi
Nice post!! Love the subdued tone typical of a Sunday evening. Oh, and I rarely look forward to Mondays and I'm constantly trying to figure it out!!
ReplyDeleteI think I could be melancholy sitting there looking at that view! Mondays are easier to look forward to nowadays, than in the past. Robin, don't you think I'm always "trying to figure it all out" on a daily basis?!? Ahahah! Lovely post, I really enjoyed reading it. Thanks for sharing!
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