When weekends hang on a clothesline

Saturday mornings have a very specific look from my home (I mean most of the time these past 2 months since I gave birth), and it doesn’t involve alarm clocks, deadlines, or rushing out the door. Just me, my thoughts, and a clothesline full of baby clothes swaying like tiny flags of victory over the week.

The first thing I see when I step outside is the laundry. Not just any laundry. Small shirts, tiny pants, socks that somehow manage to be adorable and mysterious at the same time. It's mysterious in a way that you need to look for the other pair a socks or mittens. They hang there proudly, as if announcing to the whole neighborhood that hey, a baby lives here, and yes, we washed clothes today like responsible adults. Some of them are pastel, some patterned, some look like they belong to a miniature fashion line. Life is different since I was not single anymore. All of the clothes that are hanging remind me that my Saturdays are no longer about sleeping until noon, but about appreciating moments that smell faintly of baby soap and fresh air. Although I already have two children, it still feels like first time with my second child.

Looking further, the view behind my baby clothes are the houses build on the mountain. Yeah, that's how people do here where I live. The houses are surrounded by trees. Also, even the clouds seem to take weekends seriously today.

I think it's important to check something that will calm you behind the tiredness of the responsibilities. I sometimes imagine what people in those houses are doing. Maybe someone else is also doing laundry. Maybe someone is cooking a late breakfast. Maybe someone is still asleep, unaware that below them, I am proudly admiring how well those baby clothes dried under the sun.

What I love most about this Saturday view is how it reminds me to slow down. There’s no urgency here. The baby clothes will dry when they dry. So,this is my Saturday. Now, tell me about yours.

The photo is mine