Friday nights at 44 are different than Friday nights at 24. They just are. Despite the 'desire' to stay up partying, drinking and dancing, it's more likely that you'll find me drinking on my own couch. In my pajamas. It's cheaper. It's less noisy. The parking is super convenient. The family programming is a little weak, but you can't have it all.
Saturday mornings at 44 are different than Saturday mornings at 24. For one thing, it actually happens at a part of the day still technically called morning. And there are small whiny creatures that invade your quiet space like party guests who got too drunk to leave and now want a hot meal before they hit the road.
Weekend days are different. Farmers markets, hardware stores, children's sports and birthday extravaganzas fill the space once reserved for lazy brunches, window shopping and naps. It's a cruel world.
Before you know it, it's Sunday night, you're out of fruit snacks, and you find yourself playing rock, paper, scissors to avoid being the one to brave the supermarket madness. This is not the Sunday night of my youth -- where I could spend the entire day watching a Real World marathon on MTV, eating takeout from the container and reading the Sunday Boston Globe in my robe.
Yet as much as the years have passed and the weekends have changed -- as hectic and as stressful as they may be -- I wouldn't trade them in. But, I would like to request a nap. Please.