Don’t hate me. I know of the premises behind Mondays, that they’ve become the dreaded day of the week because everyone leaves the comfort of home to return for another 5 days of grueling labor. But lately, I have come to love The Monday. She’s my friend. She’s good to me. With her help, I get things done.
It seems that after a weekend of having a counterpart at home, I arise refreshed and ready to face the world. Both Husband and I wake earlier on Mondays, not really on purpose, but because it’s not as difficult to pull ourselves out of bed as on Fridays. Those of you who cheer the Friday simply aren’t living enough during the week, I say.
A few Mondays ago I posted on FB about my level of productiveness… several loads of laundry, a roasted pumpkin-turned-muffins, apple crisp and a delicious dinner emerged from my kitchen. Most of this was after a morning of work and a visit with Jillian and the 6 week 6 pack (which, by the way, aided me into fitting into my Goal Jeans!). Today is similar. A chicken roasting in the oven, workout complete, laundry en route, bills paid up and even a little health insurance research for H’s BCMH application that I keep pushing to the bottom of the to-do list.
However, Tuesday is never approached with as much promise. Perhaps I overdo it a bit on the Monday, but even if I save back a little, Tuesday’s productive level never hits the same peak. Something always arises – an appointment, the grocery store, a pee test to remain employed. And by Wednesday and Thursday, I can only muster enough energy to fulfill the necessary requirements of functioning that day. Friday, also known as Stay In Your Jammies Day in our house, is a step away from calling a counselor hotline because I’ve lost most motivation to get dressed and cook a meal. The kiddos are home, and even if they are in bright and cheery moods I tend to be easily frustrated. For some reason, I get a case of the average person’s Mondays on the Friday. I’ve also noticed a pattern that I only break down into tears on a Friday. Friday and I don’t seem to be friends. She’s the mean girl who puts on a nice show when the teacher is looking and then snaps my bra.
Then comes the weekend. Typically I’ve tired out the kids well and good from all the early mornings to the sitter so they let the grownups sleep in a bit (you know, like 7:30. Nearly brunch). And fortunately we’ve had a string of unplanned weekends
with no real calendar that keeps us refreshed and productive on the homefront. Our shutters are now a pretty shade of cranberry to prove it.
So that’s our weekly rhythm. Much like my running pace. Start out strong and then fall back. Every once in a while when you have to push it at the end, plan to collapse in a heap at the finish line.