Simple Saturdays

“Are you signing up your kids for something?”

My friend is thumbing through the local community education catalog, marking down important class dates with a ballpoint pen.

“Definitely swimming lessons,” she says, hurriedly completing the application form.

“When are they going?” I ask, thinking of my own two girls, not yet proficient at front crawl or backstroke.

“Saturday mornings.”

“Oh,” I hesitate. “We don’t really do much on Saturdays.”

“It’s not too bad, she assures me. It doesn’t start until 10:00.”

I picture myself at 10:00 on Saturday, still in my pink pajamas, sipping a second cup of hazelnut coffee. My girls, clad in princess pjs and fuzzy monkey slippers, are busy hosting a doll tea party. My husband, outstretched on the sofa, is lost in a biography. Our kitchen holds evidence of an earlier feast: sticky maple syrup decorates the tablecloth, and a box of pancake mix sits next to the electric griddle. The dishes, stacked high in the sink, will have to wait. Now, I have a newspaper to read, then a magazine to peruse. It is Saturday morning: a well-earned day of laziness in a hasty, harried world.

My Saturdays haven’t always been simple. As a young girl, Saturdays meant ice skating lessons, followed by a half hour drive to a downtown Cleveland music conservatory for piano and violin instruction. Mom was my chauffer, pulling over at the McDonald’s drive-through to buy burgers and shakes, which we ate en route. Despite this schedule, I don’t remember feeling stress. I was happy and confident, proud to sit first chair in the school orchestra and skate in local competitions. Now, thirty years later, I think about my mother’s feelings. As a full-time working parent, didn’t she deserve to sleep in on Saturdays? To sip coffee, leisurely read the newspaper, or pursue her own hobbies? Was it her duty to put me first, above her own needs?

Today, I am the mother. My weekdays are full: working, volunteering, and driving my girls to and from Girl Scouts, choir practice, and piano lessons. By week’s end, I yearn for a lazy day. Perhaps it is selfish, but I like to turn off the alarm clock, dream about hotcakes and bacon, and unwind. At our house, Saturdays are about simplicity: no errands, lessons or sports practices.

I believe that simple Saturdays are good for my daughters. Laughter fills the house as we spend relaxed time together as a family.

“Can I crack the eggs for the pancakes, Daddy?” my youngest asks, twirling around the kitchen with a spatula in one hand.

“Mama, you slept in again!” teases my eldest as I groggily arise from a late slumber.

I know my girls are watching, and I hope they remember: Everyone needs a day to recharge and reconnect.

My girls can learn to swim and skate during the week.

Saturday is sacred: a lazy day full of promise, a gift to spend as we please.