Saturday Magic

It’s Saturday. I mean, It’s Saturday!!! The sun is shining, which is no small feat for an Inland Northwest March morning. It’s beautiful. It feels as though the sun has somehow managed to fill every crack of our century old house. As if even the air is lit up with the excitement of Spring.

It’s Saturday. My children linger in their pajamas, the shadows of crankiness from the night before gone. They are fresh, reborn in the light of day. As am I, coffee in hand. I stand in the kitchen, making the kind of breakfast people my age pay $15 to go to a restaurant and eat. It takes me an hour, even with a full size griddle, to prepare enough of each thing to feed my large family. And I love it. I relish that hour. It’s the time I don’t have on any other morning. An hour typically spent rushing children into clothes, through bowls of cereal, toothbrushes, hairbrushes, socks and shoes, seatbelts, and hugs in front of the school.

Today, there is no rush. Only the sound of my children’s laughter from the other room, and the questions they keep coming to me with as I season the hash browns, turn the sausage, hull the strawberries, then flip the French toast. My husband is here. The sounds of his guitar float around the house. He is playing with the door closed, but that never seems to matter. Music bounces through the walls, loudly, rivaled only by my twin five year olds skipping in the dining room.

It’s one of the only times my mind is quiet. I usually think too much, too fast, too long about things. But it is Saturday. My heart is so full that only one thought can fit. I am blessed. They say you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone. But I do. I see it. I hear it. I feel it. I have tasted it. Life is beautiful. It is unexpected and crazy and heart achingly raw at times. But it’s here. And I get to live it. Get to stop racing long enough to appreciate it. Not only catch my breath, but hold it, then breath again and again. There is nothing else that I absolutely have to do, because it’s Saturday.


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