I love Friday afternoons. Winding down the work day and gearing up for the weekend. I was just sitting here marveling at how my “looking forward” has changed over the years.
As a child, the weekends were great because they meant no school. They also meant a day out shopping with mom sometimes which was fun because I always got something. A new Donny Osmond album. Some lip gloss, a new eye shadow. Nothing big just a little something.
Of course they also came with a drunk dad and more arguments than usual because no one had to go to work so they were stuck with each other. It also meant all day cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning. Just for my sister and I mind you. My mother didn’t clean because she worked all week and weekends were for rest. Really? I mean really mom?
When I was a teenager, weekends meant working to earn some cash to support my family and my car and spending time with my boyfriend and occasionally my friends. My mother usually laid on the guilt if I spent too much time with my friends because it took time away from her, but I managed to squeeze in some.
As an adult, we used to leave work on Friday’s and head to a local bar for happy hour…which lasted till about midnight when we’d stumble into the local greasy spoon for some breakfast. I have to admit, it was a blast.
Saturday’s were spent cleaning and recuperating, shopping, visiting parents, yard work, and generally just taking care of responsibilities. Then off to Saturday night which, if I didn’t have something already planned I would quickly get something together. A Saturday night spent at home in my twenties meant that I was a loser of epic proportions and so, as to avoid the shame and embarrassment of it all, we ALWAYS had plans on Saturday night. Just call me Julie, your friendly cruise director.
After the kids came along, things calmed down quite a bit. The hubs had had a mild heart attack when #1 son was about a month old, so we REALLY cleaned up our act. After he was about 3 months old, we began “date night”, once a month, so grandma could babysit and I could get my drunk on. Of course I never actually called it that but it always happened. I tried to stay sober (I really did at that time) but as a good, card carrying alcoholic, it never really worked out that way. And if it did, I had to go right home and go to bed to avoid that whole restless and discontent thing.
After I started drinking at home, I looked forward to the weekends because somehow it was more acceptable to drink on weekends than during the week. I started inviting people over and entertaining a lot more because it was yet another excuse to drink…and drink…and drink. Eventually I didn’t need to do any entertaining in order to get shit faced but in the beginning it was a nice rationalization for my alcoholic behavior. Later I actually preferred to drink alone…but that’s another post all together.
Its so weird now to look back at this kind of behavior. I actually thought this was normal! Or at least I convinced myself it was. I used to compare my drinking to everyone else around me just to see if I was really as bad as I suspected myself to be. There was only one other woman who could ever keep up with me and I still worry about her.
Now I’m sitting here looking soooo forward to being the loser I once was terrified of being. I’m going to go home tonight and put my feet up and play on my iPad or read or hang with my kids. I may go to bed early or I may stay up a little longer than usual. I get to choose based on how I feel, not by how much wine is left in the fridge.
Tomorrow I’ll get done whatever has to get done and I’ll do a repeat of Friday night.
Then Sunday evening I’ll start gearing up for the work week.
And every single one of those days and nights I will continually thank God that I am one, grateful, recovering alcoholic in the universe as opposed to the non-recovering variety.
Have a great weekend everyone!