Unlike most people, I don’t hate Mondays.
On Monday, I’ve got the whole week ahead of me to do what needs doing.
On Monday, I start to regain order in the house after the chaos of the weekend.
On Monday, I am (usually) more well-rested than on any other weekday.
I don’t hate Mondays. It’s Wednesdays that I have a problem with.
Wednesday is Laundry Day.
Wednesday is the day that I check my To Do List for the week and realize there is no way I’m getting it all done.
Today is Wednesday.
Today, Sarah Kate got up complaining that her ears hurt. I told her she was fine, mumbled something about The Boy Who Cried Wolf, and sent her on to school, only to receive a phone call from the school nurse a few hours later.
Today, Mr. Andi called to tell me that because of the severe storms in the northern part of the state last night, he may need to take one of his crews and go up there to work for several days to restore power.
Today, I was smiling to myself (while I folded the laundry) because I heard the sound of the Roomba starting her cycle. I meandered toward the sound, expecting to surprise my sweet boy, who would squeal and clap, causing me to laugh at his clever antics. Instead, I found him sitting on the laundry room floor eating dryer lint he had pulled out of the garbage can.
Wednesdays are my Mondays.
