We have a three-day holiday weekend, all sports are cancelled, the grandparents are coming to town, and my daughter gets to go out to a special Valentine’s Day brunch with her auntie on Sunday.
Sometimes it’s good to have no practices, games, Superbowl parties, or other obligations. Just family.
Tonight my kids and I piled on the couch to watch HGTV, our dorky new obsession every since we bought the new house. My son is obsessed with demolition – I’m afraid I’ll come home from work one day and find that he’s knocked down a wall. My daughter falls in love with every house she sees in every country across the world, picking out the tiniest points of beauty in each one: an arched doorway, pink geraniums in a clay pot.
And I silently pop-psychoanalyze all the couples who decide to give it all up and move to Costa Rica or Thailand.
I usually decide that they will be quite happy.
My son would not stop talking tonight. He has been chatting all the time lately. I asked him how he was feeling.
“Great!” he said.
I asked him why.
“I don’t know. We don’t have to do anything this weekend! And you know, I feel like I’m coming out of a lot of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” I asked.
“Oh you know the divorce,” he answered.
I wanted to talk so much more about it, but I know there’s lots of time for this. I just told him I felt the same way.