There’s something special about
Friday; everyone at work or school is a little more cheerful than usual in the
morning and energetic in the afternoon, driven by an eagerness to cut out early.
My office neighbor used to appear in my doorway on Friday afternoons with a
grin and announce “it’s quittin’ time!” It always made me smile. Academic freedom
makes an early departure for the weekend quite realistic barring occasional department
meetings, inevitably slated for the only time everyone is available – Friday afternoon.
I used to enjoy Fridays as much
as anyone. Back in grad school, we had to work in lab on the weekends but Friday
still felt like the beginning of a break because Saturday wouldn’t be a super
long day and Sunday would be a day off. So, in our twenties, Friday nights
would often be spent out with our friends at the Cambridge Brewing Company
followed by a late movie. In our thirties, Friday hailed the beginning of
uninterrupted family time, always welcome in the busy-ness of our life. Early
on, I’d leave early, pick baby N up from daycare, and hike at the conservation
land near our house. I’d walk with him strapped to my chest and point out the
cows. In more recent years, I’d sneak a run in before getting the kids, or if
Chris was home early, he’d play with them so I could get exercise. Then, we’d
often escape from
Now, Friday is complicated. When Friday
rolls around, I keep finding myself surprised we made it to the end of another
week because the rhythm of day-evening-night seems to be a long slog of tasks
to be completed followed by waking up still tired and doing it again. So yes, I’m
always relieved when Friday arrives; whew, we made it through another week. It’s
definitely a feeling of relief, but I wouldn’t classify it as being happy. No,
happy is what I see when my colleagues rush off, excited to leave their
professional cares behind and enjoy down time with the people they love. This
is when I’m hit with sadness and envy that cuts to my core. Someone is
celebrating his wife’s birthday, another off to coach one of many weekend soccer
games while I’m going home to clean up the disaster area that is the dining
room table, fold three baskets of laundry, and maybe we will have a scrounge
dinner night of whatever we want from whatever we can find (cereal is a meal). I’ll
probably check in on bills and various accounts later when it’s so quiet you
could hear a pin drop. Friday is not really fun anymore…
Our “new
normal” has a quietness that is exaggerated when we try to replicate old normal
family time, so over the past year we preferred to stay at home. Going out as a
threesome was too lonely to bear, it seemed. Lately, though, I’ve sensed a change
in our small family. Without discussing it, all three of us have seemed more receptive
to attempting old normal things. Honestly, the kids have towed me
along in their readiness. The first time they
wanted to go to UNO’s on a Friday night, I said fine, let’s do it. It’s just a chain restaurant
serving American food, nothing special. Ah, but it’s one where we had gone many
times together. I agreed to the plan not realizing that a hundred memories
would wash over me and choke the air out of the room…
As we walked up to the entrance, my mind's eye went into overdrive. I saw Chris carrying an infant carseat, and then there he was holding a
small hand while happy toddler feet skipped. When Nathan was very young, he was
riveted by the numerous screens at this restaurant since we didn’t let him
watch much TV. Chris and I found that we could talk more together if we went to
UNO’s and guiltily sometimes chose it for this reason. Occasionally a magician would
wander around the dining room making balloon creatures for kids and doing magic
tricks; we hired him for a birthday party years ago. Preceding our family life,
Chris and I would eat at this chain with friends from grad school. He’d often enjoy
a mango iced tea (referred to as an MIT by his friend) and insist on getting
the mashed potato pizza appetizer topped with bacon and cheese. We would talk
about the chemistry department characters, laugh over nerdy things, and watch October
baseball.
The place was full of families
with carefree Friday night smiles. Once seated, we remembered aloud the things
Dad liked from the menu and ordered those pizza skins. J and I
played tic tac toe as we waited, but there was an empty seat across from me and
no easy banter. N sat alone on his side of the table, immersed in a baseball
game on TV. The longer we waited, the more our family of three felt out of place. I wanted to get the heck out of there as soon as possible but, as our
luck would have it, the service was slow and our time there interminable. The
more minutes that ticked by the less there was to say. A few tears slipped down
my face and I tried hard not to let it get the best of me. The kids didn’t cry
or express their sadness, maybe they didn’t know what to do with a sad mom or
memories of their own. We were all relieved when the bill finally arrived and
we were released back into the comfort of our own world. At home, we retreated
to separate corners of the house to seek relief in our chosen distractions.
Fridays are hard…
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