Being The Weekend

By the time I gather my things together at the end of the day and pick up Larry, we are pretty exhausted from stress. Many days this year, in particular, I feel singularly beaten down. This discourages my attempts to adopt a more positive attitude in life, although I plan to keep trying. It also makes it more difficult to get up and go to work every day. Who would want to go to work feeling like they had a huge target on their back? By the time we arrive at the daycare, it is occasionally difficult just to get out of the car, we are so despondent. Thank God it's the weekend, Larry and I say to each other, but we are thinking of the same thing: the brilliant smile of our son.

But then I walk into that daycare and my son comes running to me, smiling, wanting to be picked up. And the stress begins to melt off my body like candle wax. His teacher shared with me yesterday that in the middle of a game, Zane stopped what he was doing. He had been participating in a game of musical chairs, was laughing, and seemed to be having fun, his teacher reported, but he stopped. Why stop?

Because he somehow knew that it was close to pickup time.

Because he wanted to sit where he could see the door.

Because he wanted to see his parents when they arrived.

Best. Stress. Relief. Ever.