On Mondays, I’m a mail-it-in mom.
Where Sunday was once a day of rest, it is now a day of birthday parties and errands, car trips and family outings. Which means Monday is almost always a wash.
On Mondays, there are no aquarium trips or music classes, because on Mondays, leaving the house is rare.
On Mondays, Curious George and Handy Manny are welcome visitors in our living room.
On Mondays, breakfast might be a hotdog bun smeared with peanut butter and lunch is likely to be cobbled together with stale crackers and various condiments from the fridge. Grey Poupon and Smuckers on Ritz anyone?
On Mondays, clean clothes are hard to come by and pants are optional.
On Mondays, mommy clings to daddy like a barnacle when he departs for work, begging him to take a sick day. On no Monday has this ever actually worked in mommy’s favor.
On Mondays, cleaning up from the weekend tornado on Sunday night seems like a much better idea than it did when it was actually Sunday night and a Netflix binge-session was just a click away.
On Mondays, chocolate consumption starts before 9 AM and the cork pops before 5 PM.
On Mondays, everything seems just a little bit harder and just a tiny bit slower.
On Tuesdays, there might be swim classes and doctors appointments and storybooks and play dates. But on Mondays, we mail it in. And we feel OK about it.
Unless, of course, it’s raining on Tuesday.
In which case, there’s always Wednesday.