Saturday, January 30, 2010

Saturday Mornings, Looking Back (2/90)

I've made a routine for my Saturday mornings. I sleep as late as I want, jump in the shower, make breakfast or brunch, depending on the hour, and settle in for a day of homework. 

But these haven’t always been my Saturday mornings.

There were Saturday mornings years ago that I'd willingly wake up early, pull on Soffee shorts and a t-shirt and head to open gym for tumbling.

 There were many Saturday mornings that we’d pile into the car as a family and travel to mine or my sister’s cheerleading competitions or my brother’s basketball tournaments where we’d stay all day.  

And then there were the Saturday mornings that I spent cleaning the church and volunteering for community outreach events and rehearsing with the choir.

  Once every six weeks like clockwork were those Saturday mornings that I'd wake up and cover my hair with a hat and head to the salon to be permed and blown out and flat ironed and emerge with hair that was straight and silky and I’d swing it to be sure everyone noticed.

There was a summer that I went to the beach every Saturday morning with my friends. I’d wake up early and pull on my swimsuit and flip flops, and slather on some sunscreen. We would pack fruit and sandwiches and water into a cooler that we’d throw in the trunk and drive to the beach with the windows down and the music loud. Once there we’d walk the length of the beach while eating grapes, talking and looking for starfish. We’d skimboard and read and float on tubes too far into the ocean.

Not too long ago on Saturday mornings, I'd wake up, drink a Rockstar or two and spend the morning teaching cute little kids in sparkly leotards to walk on their toes across balance beams. I'd flip them over the bars and teach them to hold their arms strong, and tuck their chins to their chest before doing their forward rolls so they wouldn't hurt their necks.

There  are those precious Saturday mornings that I still enjoy occasionally where I'm  awakened by the sound of the footsteps of my 5-year-old nephew barreling down the stairs just before he turns on the Disney Channel and climbs under the covers to lay with me on my sister’s couch where I fall asleep after dancing and partying the night away.

But enough reminiscing for now, because this Saturday is slipping away from me, and there’s homework yet to be done.

Those were good days, these are good days and there are good days to come. 


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