Tonight I am home alone, and I remember how Friday nights are my favorite. They used to be all mine to do whatever I wanted. Before kids, Andy used Friday nights to hang out with the guys. I used to work late, loving to spend quiet Friday nights at school, in my classroom. I caught up and planned and read and dreamed. I came home to leftovers, which felt more special than they actually were. Back then I drank black tea and didn’t worry about caffeine after 4 pm. I watched movies and played with pictures and words. I might start a new book and read into the morning hours until I reached the back cover. Our Husky, Sascha, kept me company. She curled up on her pillow and chewed her bone until she drifted off to sleep.
Then we had kids, and I came home for a fun Friday afternoon, an early dinner and a “late” bedtime for the kids of 7:45 pm. Andy headed off to hang out with the guys, and I was left to write books and articles and blog posts. I drank coffee at this point, and it kept me awake to write all of the things. No matter how much coffee I drank, the minute I opened a book, I would fall asleep. It was unlikely I would remember Andy arriving home and coaxing me to bed. Our rottie, Katie, would already be in the bedroom.
It’s been a long while since I’ve had a Friday night to myself. Here I am, sitting in my studio (which is the whimsical name for the laundry room that doubles as a scrapbooking room. This week I began to transform it into a place to work, too. It is becoming a place to edit writing and craft videos; a place to write and create images; a place to podcast. My lovely laptop is magical, but I’m beginning to struggle to see the screen and my elbows and wrists hurt from the cockeyed positions that come from working on the couch or the bed or the kitchen counter with a stool. It’s not only a matter of comfort, but of productivity, too.
I like to drink from a mug. These days it’s “tiger tea,” a cinnamon herbal tea with a tiger on the package + a little honey, or like tonight, it’s ice water. It feels more special than it actually is. Our new puppy, a German Shepherd named Luna, is curled under my feet. She adjusted to the studio like it’s her favorite place. (Although, I could likely make a case that Luna’s favorite place is wherever I am.) The whole family is gone, and I am alone on Friday night.
I remember that Friday nights are my favorite.
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