There's a song from a Rogers & Hammerstein musical (Flower Drum Song, maybe?) that goes,
Sunday, sweet Sunday, with nothing to do,
Lazy, and lovely, my one day with you.
Hazy, and happy, we'll drift through the day,
Dreaming the hours away.
Now maybe I've mentioned this before on my blog, but generally speaking, I don't sit still very well on the weekends. Particularly on Sundays - so much so, that this song makes me both laugh and cry with jealousy.
It's not that I always have to have an activity going on, there's definitely a difference; it's more that if I'm home and there's stuff to be done around the house, I can't just sit still without doing it. It's the reason "Sunday Funday" isn't something I can handle. It's the reason I unpack my bag the second I get home from a vacation, even if the couch looks more inviting. It's the reason that the week before my different book clubs, I'm frantically reading every spare minute I can find (because I couldn't just lay around for multiple hours in the preceding weekends).
There's a certain amount of discontent that comes with this. I'll often wake up on a Sunday, and even though I'm glad to be home, I'm not 100% happy or excited about the last day of the weekend. Instead, I start to think of everything that needs to get done (church, meal planning, grocery store, house cleaning, laundry, cooking, exercise, etc.). It will even sometimes extend into grumpiness towards Jonathan: he'll be on the couch watching football (since he's worked really hard during the week and feels deserving of some relaxation) and I'll be grumpy towards him because he's not doing anything. (And yes, I do recognize this is destructive behavior towards myself and him. Got it.)
Something sort of weird happened this past weekend, though. I felt genuinely happy and unburdened; I was, dare I say, relaxed.
As I mentioned on Friday, my sister was coming into town on Saturday for a little 24-hour visit. The few days leading up to the weekend were really stressful. I was cleaning and grocery shopping and laundering and changing sheets - all the thing you have to do before a houseguest. But then, after doing all that? Everything was done.
So Friday night I went with a friend to the Levitt Shell to see Alvin Youngblood Hart. We brought snacks and drinks and had a great time. Then Saturday, Suzanne arrived around noon and we headed on to a local beer festival (featuring beers from small breweries in reasonable driving distance of Memphis). The afternoon turned into a haze (although I clearly remember the 2 miles we walked home from the festival in flip flops, culminating in one of the biggest/most painful blisters I've ever had) - and then, after "naps" on the couch, we went on to a lovely outdoor dinner and drinks.
Sunday morning, we woke up and went to breakfast, and then Suzanne left. But this is where my day deviated from it's usual course: I didn't feel overwhelmed or stressed about what needed to get done. I did my grocery shopping early (beating crowds), and was home by noon. And for a couple hours, I relaxed on the couch listening to music and thumbing through a cookbook in search of new recipes to try. Then I baked muffins. And then I made dinner. I also did some more laundry, but it didn't feel awful or unbearable. Jonathan was holed up in the office for most of the day, which usually makes me sort of sad/lonely (wishing we could hang out on our weekend), but it didn't feel like that on Sunday. Instead, I just embraced the time alone and basked in the totally carefree/stressless day I was having.
Maybe it was a general attitude adjustment? Or maybe I felt good after spending time with my sister? Who knows - but I can guarantee that if most of my weekends were spent feeling like that, I'd be one happy camper.