I couldn't tell.
In fact, I can rarely tell the weekends from the weeks...and even more rarely, do I know when it is a HOLIDAY weekend versus a plain 'ol run-o-the-mill weekend.
Why? Because poor Matt doesn't ever get a day off it seems! Cows don't take vacations. Dadgummit.
They don't get weekends off. Blast!
And they wouldn't know a holiday if one hit 'em right between the eyeballs.
I guess I should feel bad for the girls.
But hey-they are kinda used to it. Besides, what ELSE do they have to do besides be milked? What would they do? Play croquet? Barbeque shrimp? Nope. They just chew their cud and line on up to be 'relieved' of the 80 pounds of milk they've been holding onto for the last who knows how long.
I feel bad for ME, for the kids, and most especially the poor guy livin' it~ My man. The man who is mine, all mine. That man is the hardest workin' man I know. But even He is getting worn down. 120 hour payperiods? That's just messed up.
I realized it was Saturday around 11:00 today. So I packed a lunch (FINALLY, SUN!) and headed for a picnic at the park. It was incredibly busy. There is a reservoir with TONS of huge fish and there were people there all over the place. Mostly men with their kids, fishing.
Made me feel bad for my kids, who are always stuck doing stuff with ME and not their Pops.
And made me feel bad for Mattie, who works so hard and gets so few rewards. Misses out on times like that, because by golly-when you work so hard, the only free time you have practically, is to get rested up for the next day.
Here's hoping there is a change in the forecast soon.
And plenty of rest on the horizon.
It sure would be nice for my hardworking man. And me.