This morning I slept in, watched cartoons with my son, made a pot of coffee, read a magazine and napped all over again before leisurely crawling out the bed around 1pm to start my day. I threw on a gray tshirt dress with black tights and brown hiking boots with a long, olive green duster-trendy and comfortable. I drove the long way through town until I ventured upon a restaurant I had never seen or eaten at before. My son ordered pizza and I had a sweet and spicy chicken panini. On the way home we stopped to watch a drum line practice at a local middle school. The riff of the snares and the boom from the bass drums reminded me of spending countless hours on the marching band field during my middle and high school days. I shared stories with my son about how his father and I met and became friends around his very own age. It was a perfect day. As I drove closer to home my mood suddenly changed. I could barely contain my sadness as I pulled into the driveway. Walking through the doors of my home marked the end of the weekend and I had mentally begun preparing its funeral. In the final bit of daylight, I did some busy work in the yard. Darkness fell and I knew the time had finally come. Tomorrow was back to work. As I say my final goodbyes, I’m already missing pizza for breakfast, early morning thrifting and messy, unkempt hair. No more midday naps and binge watching television. As I trade in my lazy afternoon outfit for a structured sheath dress with a classic, open front blazer and swap my dusty hiking boots for a pair of black mid-heel pumps, I silently raise my glass and toast to the friggin weekend!

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