It's a rainy Saturday morning at work. I am missing Saturday's when I was growing up. Before I knew the value of sleeping in. When Saturday automatically meant house-hold-chores for the first half of the day and enjoy-a-day-off the other half of the day. Before I could drive. The time I was care-free. When life was relatively easy.
When it was nice and sunny out. We would play outside until the sun went down. Only to come inside with dirt under our nails and a ton of bug bites. Going on adventurous bike rides through our neighbor hood. Running around our giant front and backyard. Taking the tire swing and turning it into a carnival ride, using the jungle gym. Creating a water-world with a hose, the swing set and the trampoline. Playing house in our giant built-just-for-us play house. Making cities out chalk on our driveway and riding our bikes through them, making stops to grocery shop at the "Grocery Store".
Then there were Saturdays that were rainy. Those days were spent inside. Inside the family room. A room designated just for movie watching, craft making, library book reading, barbie or doll house playing, and fort building. The deep dark blue comfy carpet was very inviting to play on, no matter the time of day. If we weren't in the family room, we were in the kitchen eating Chewy Granola bars for a snack or sitting up at the kitchen bar stools talking moms ear off while she made dinner. Sometimes we would play in our bedrooms, but pretty much only on the Saturdays where we had ventured to clean our rooms that very day...the only time a room was fun to play in was when it had just been cleaned (how ironic right?). Sometime we would just use the entire house to play in, running around or chasing each other from the bedrooms all the way to the family room (causing broken bones).
Thinking about my old house makes me remember too many memories; good, bad, happy, sad, exciting, scary...ultimately causing growing pains. I'm learning that it doesn't matter what roof is over your head, it's the people under that roof that make a house a home.
When it was nice and sunny out. We would play outside until the sun went down. Only to come inside with dirt under our nails and a ton of bug bites. Going on adventurous bike rides through our neighbor hood. Running around our giant front and backyard. Taking the tire swing and turning it into a carnival ride, using the jungle gym. Creating a water-world with a hose, the swing set and the trampoline. Playing house in our giant built-just-for-us play house. Making cities out chalk on our driveway and riding our bikes through them, making stops to grocery shop at the "Grocery Store".
Then there were Saturdays that were rainy. Those days were spent inside. Inside the family room. A room designated just for movie watching, craft making, library book reading, barbie or doll house playing, and fort building. The deep dark blue comfy carpet was very inviting to play on, no matter the time of day. If we weren't in the family room, we were in the kitchen eating Chewy Granola bars for a snack or sitting up at the kitchen bar stools talking moms ear off while she made dinner. Sometimes we would play in our bedrooms, but pretty much only on the Saturdays where we had ventured to clean our rooms that very day...the only time a room was fun to play in was when it had just been cleaned (how ironic right?). Sometime we would just use the entire house to play in, running around or chasing each other from the bedrooms all the way to the family room (causing broken bones).
Thinking about my old house makes me remember too many memories; good, bad, happy, sad, exciting, scary...ultimately causing growing pains. I'm learning that it doesn't matter what roof is over your head, it's the people under that roof that make a house a home.
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