Weekends at Our Place

Because another weekend approaches (And a long one at that! Woohoo!), I share the following...

On a typical weekend morning in our household, you will find one or all of these things taking place:

1.) We eat homemade blueberry muffins. 

Or Pillsbury “Orange Rolls” (a beloved favorite from my childhood). 

Or the famed “Eggy Sandwich.” 

This is a take on the McDonald’s “Egg McMuffin,” but is of course far superior to the McDonald’s version due to the fact that it is made with an actual egg. Nevermind the processed cheese part. Just overlook that for the time being and marvel at the overall superiority of our homemade “Eggy Sandwich.” When I make this for Travis I make his egg scrambled, because he is not a fan of the dreaded “runny yolk.” Which I can understand...I guess. A lot of people don’t like a runny yolk. But to me, it is the essence of the “Eggy Sandwich’s” deliciousness. I heart runny yolks.  

2.)  We read. 

Travis reads the newspaper or smarty pants magazines like The Economist. I do not attempt this. I read a book of some sort, or better yet, my Better Homes and Gardens magazine. Or I flip through the Pottery Barn catalog. Can’t get enough of that. I guess that’s not really “reading” but it makes my heart skip and leap for joy all the same. 

I am an “all or nothing” kind of girl at times, so when it comes to the newspaper and smarty pants magazines, because I know that I can’t possibly read all of it I choose to read none of it. Fair logic? Perhaps yes, perhaps no. I am working on this attitude because I know it’s a good thing to stay up to speed with current events. It’s what grown-ups do. And really, it’s a civic duty. By not doing it I display a cavalier disregard towards my fellow man and the privileges of our democratic society! What kind of citizen am I? But in the meantime, while I contemplate such matters, I get my news from listening to NPR or the occasional article in a smarty pants magazine. And that seems to suffice.

3.) We don’t shave our faces. 

Correction: Travis doesn’t shave his face. I guess you could say that I don’t shave mine either, but that’s because I never do. And thank goodness there isn’t a need to! Phew! As for Travis, this man takes advantage of every opportunity to grow a hairy mug. The Air Force doesn’t look too kindly upon hairy mugs, so on weekdays Travis is Smoothy Smootherton. But weekends or holidays? Oh yes. The razor goes untouched. This, my friends, is a true sign of the weekend. Travis’ appearance practically shouts, “It’s Saturday! Relax it up, people!” 

During such hairy times I enjoy calling my cutie pie husband, “Fuzz Face.” Or I’ll rub his scruffy beard with my fingertips and proclaim, “I love your fuzzy face!” It’s our thing. If other people observed this activity they might find it cute and endearing. Or they might think it’s irritating. Probably the latter, which is one of the 572,000 reasons why Travis and I have determined that we should never, ever, ever, ever, ever have our own reality television show (because there have been so many offers, you know). I don’t care how much the networks beg us. The American public would disown us faster than fast after only the first episode. And then where would we be?

So there you go. Weekends in a nutshell. If you ever drop by and one or all three of the above activities are taking place, you can probably bet on the fact that it’s a Saturday or Sunday. That’s how we roll around here.

The End.

But wait! Not the end...

One more thing. I have to confess something (the title of this blog does include the word “confessions” after all, so I should probably confess things every now and then). Lately I have been having a hard time doing item #2 on the list because I have been saving piles of dirty laundry for the end of the week. So then I spend hours washing and folding it over the weekend! And not hanging out reading with my fuzzy face husband! Ack! Corrections must be made. I must be more diligent about getting the laundry done earlier in the week so that I can go back to blueberry muffin-eating and Pottery Barn catalog-ing. It’s just a better way to live, you know? Whew! Glad I got that off my chest.

Okay, now the end. For real this time.