I have a hard time getting Friday nights right. For years, when all the kids were home, it was the day for all the backpacks and lunchboxes to pile up on the fireplace and remain, forgotten, while we devoured Little Caesar's pizza and watched Nickelodeon in a shell-shock stupor. Other couples do "date night" or "family" night, but we always hit Fridays with a survivor's mentality.
That is, if we didn't have a game, or a concert, or a place to shuttle the kids to, or a church thing, or a school thing, or a family thing.
My mother always said that everyone needs to have a M-F 9-5 job to truly experience the beauty of a Friday night. It's a whole new level of anticipation. I wake up on Friday mornings eager to reach Friday night. I'm a jammies-by-dark kind of Friday night-er. I'm a "theater is too crowded with kids" movie shut-in. I don't have the energy to commit to Netflix...just give me a Dateline and I'm good. Since it's usually just me and Mikey, we skip the pizza. We're survivors. We just want food. Eggs? Toast? Perfection.
Tonight we're working on a wee bit of house stuff. (Ok, he's working; I'm typing, waiting for the Dateline to get ahead so I can fastfoward through the commercials) Don't get me wrong--If there was something to do, we'd do it. If there was someplace to go, we'd be there. But sometimes, it's just lovely to have nothing to do, nowhere to go.
