There is something about being a child, some little nugget in a kid’s brain, that hardwires them to wake early on a Saturday morning. Monday through Friday the Kaiser sleeps until well past seven and I have to wake him with soft words and coaxing. On a Saturday, though, his weekend gray matter kicks in and he’s in my room at 6am, telling me to wake because it’s going to be, “a beautiful day, Mommy.”
As we sat in the drive thru at Dunkin Donuts, I questioned the Kaiser about this oddity. He laughed and told me he didn’t know why.
I don’t suppose it much matters, and I remember doing the same thing when I was a child – waking on Saturday morning like it was Christmas, full of the happy and the readiness to start a glorious, school-free day. I wish I woke like that now. I don’t know how to wake like that now. Most mornings are punctuated by a vague sense of dread; yes, I am aware that that is probably not healthy.
The Kaiser and me? Our ideas of the supremely fun are different. I’d love nothing more than to lie in bed until ten with a cup of coffee beside me, book in hand. But he reminds me, and often, that it’s not always about … me. And maybe my idea of fun isn’t actually all that fun.
The thing about kids is this: When you have a child and if you’re open enough, you can lay your hands on the magic of childhood. When you have a child you can watch cartoons for hours and wrestle on the floor and jump in bouncy castles and discover the sweetness of a honeysuckle. You have direct access to childhood, an immediate and every-day opportunity to see things anew and forget, for a while, that you have bills to pay and work emails to answer and a car to wash. Stay in the moment and you can forget that excel doc you forgot to send, your broken vacuum cleaner that spits dirt instead of sucking, and all the boxes that still need packing.
It’s Saturday, and it’s time to forget.