once upon a time a perfect weekend would have been Alex and I on our empty stretch of beach, the one where the old man does yoga standing on the splintered fence and sometimes in the waves…the one where happiness is painted on the weathered stairs. or maybe it would have been a tailgate, chasing vodka with cheap beer, lips stained red from an open jug of wine. or it could have been pancakes with sprinkles and a peanut butter fight at the old house, the house where he proposed. or maybe tangled on the pull out mattress in the living room, watching the tudors with the curtains pulled shut, bowls of frosted flakes and ice cream on our laps. maybe it was cheap thrills, drunken irresponsibility. maybe it was nothing at all.
but days passed and years ticked by…and at some point you come to find that the perfect weekend unwinding before you is sitting on the grass watching your son chase a soccer ball, watching your husband spin him in the air. and it’s the two of you sitting on the couch, sun streaming in through the windows, rainbows dancing on the walls, a baby sleeping on your chest and a baby sprawled in between you, reading himself books for the very first time. it’s cooking dinner with metallica up loud in the background, boys dancing on top of a cooler, the shrieking laughter of a one year old ringing in your ears.
the days, they’re changing.