Where are thou weekend

Katrina for The Guardian:

When my own son, then aged 12, started asking on Sunday nights, “Was that a weekend? Are you kidding?” I knew what he meant. In my family of four, weekends had become as gridlocked as weekdays. My husband and I were shuttling the kids to sports and playdates, cleaning and fixing our old, broken house, doing the washing – in short, tackling all the tasks neglected during the time-crunched week of a two-career household. And in between, we were scheduling pockets of work.

I look at this weekend with a morning run for me with a friend. A day of figure skating group pictures for my wife and oldest. I’ll make a quick stop with my youngest for her pictures.

Then I need to record some audio for the skating club, put up a shelf, build the programme for the skating carnival. I was thinking of recording a vlog of Saturday and I’m probably missing something else on the books.

Yup plus laundry and all the other house tasks it takes to get a family of 5 going into the next week.

So yup I ask where is my dang weekend and I’m saying that I’m not going to record a vlog on Saturday even if it will be cool. Let’s just take that day off video work.

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