Here's the thing about weekends when you have small children: Saturdays and Sundays are not your own.
Not like they used to be, when you could roll out of bed at nine, relax over a cup of coffee, read the paper, listen to This American Life, maybe plan a hike and pack a picnic lunch.
You can still have coffee and picnics, but none of it's on your time table. It's not especially leisurely. Often, it's downright aggravating. You want mellow. You want sweet silence, just for a short time. And what you get is ebullience.
And you have to, at least attempt to, embrace it. Because there are only twelve or so years (which sounds impossibly long to me right now) before your children don't especially want to interact with you. Before they start hiding what they're doing rather than shouting, a hundred times, "Watch this! Watch me!"