scribblechic

It isn’t unusual that I wake to a Tuesday that feels ominously like Monday, the week’s routine unfolding with the grinding resistance of denial. Likewise, I have misconstrued a Thursday for Friday as I race enthusiastically toward the weekend’s leisure. It is, however, rare that I overlook a day entirely.

This morning I woke my son with Monday’s apologies for Tuesday’s early morning beginning. I chased him through breakfast with reminders and hurried him towards school with empty gestures of routine; making it half way home before my sleepy teenager called to remind me of the day, a well documented day off from school.

It was a fully conscious, bright-eyed conspirator that dismissed my error, sneaking back into his room until his younger sister left for elementary school so that she wouldn’t feel excluded from his good fortune. Suddenly, today feels a little like a misplaced Saturday torn from a day long past, when it was only the two of us exploring nothing in particular with all the time in the world.

Tagged: Musings, Son