A memory of our home that lifts my heart more than any others.

I grew up, like many latch-key-kids of the 80’s and 90’s, with a working Mom. Monday through Thursday were working days for my Mom and for us as kids, that meant a strict schedule of getting out the door for school, afternoon snacks of our choosing, and a panicked clean through the house before we knew she’d be arriving back home. I never remember hoping that my Mom wouldn’t work – it’s just what was. We managed to fill our time with friends and card games and bike riding and general mayhem well enough.

But then there was Friday.

Friday was the one day of the week that my Mom didn’t work outside of the home and also was a day that we still went off to school. This allowed my Mom time at home – by herself – to clean, grocery shop, help in our classrooms, and generally prepare for the weekend ahead. I’m sure for her, without question, this was the very best day of the week.

I can attest that as a working Mom myself, time alone is precious. Painfully precious.

But that’s not the point.

Something happened on Fridays. I still think of it like magic. My Mom had this incredibly homemaking ability to make spaces feel fresh and tended to and beautiful and loved. She was (and still is) like those fairy Godmothers in Cinderella that go around tapping things with their wands, bringing them back to life.

That’s my Mom. And that was Fridays.

Us three girls would pile into the house on Fridays knowing exactly what was coming: the strong smell of bleach from the floors, Comet from the bathroom, Tide from the laundry room, supper from the kitchen. (And if we were particularly lucky that week, cookies from the dining room table.) Fridays would mean the refrigerator would be full, the furniture would be vacuumed, the throw blankets would be folded, the scented candles would be lit, and Mom would be tired, but happy.

Fridays meant contentment. Joy. Beauty. Rest. Comfort.

In later years, when money wasn’t as tight, we would go and get coffee after school on Fridays before heading to our local Blockbuster to pick out a movie for the weekend ahead (yes, kids, back when you had to rent one video at a time from a store). We called them M&M nights (mocha and movie, obviously.)

If I could bottle the feeling of Fridays as a kid, it would probably lift my heart higher than almost any other memory.


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