Weekends around here are fabulous. I love that my husband is home and we spend time together as a family. Nathan usually wakes us up with soft coos intertwined with a spattering of baby babble, patiently waiting for the sleep to disappear from his mommy’s eyes. Once I’m awake enough to be semi functional, I pick Nathan up, change his diaper, and feed him while Paul relaxes for a bit longer in bed. Then I zoom Nathan into the bedroom, his arms and legs splayed and flapping through the air, and we bounce onto the bed, making airplane noises and rousing a smile from my husband. Then Paul meanders his way into the kitchen and concocts a stellar breakfast of eggs, bacon, and the most delicious French Toast I have ever eaten. That is the plus side of being the one who gets up with the baby during the night and in the mornings… I eat a breakfast fit for a Queen. All those times where I wanted to wring Paul’s neck because he got to sleep peacefully while I attempted to console a back-arching, shrilly screaming baby seem moot once that plate of steaming goodness is set in front of me. All is forgiven. As long as he keeps cooking, that is. I love the weekends. But then that love is shattered like delicate glass tossed carelessly onto rough asphalt once Sunday rolls into Monday. I hate Mondays. They eat my weekends like a child eats gobbles up macaroni and cheese. I hate Mondays because it means I have five long days of being home all day, trying to get the housework done while juggling a bouncy baby on one hip, waiting for my husband to come home from work just so he can work some more, but hey at least he’s home, right? What makes Mondays even worse are the rainy, gloomy, dismal ones like today. It seems like all my energy has been sapped out of me by a giant, marsh-dwelling, brain eating, figurative mosquito called GLOOM. This GLOOM invades my house, making dark corners seem even darker, making the housework pile up all by itself, and making my eyes droop with sleepiness. GLOOM makes me so tired that I suddenly become the epitome of all that is clumsy… I start walking into walls (yes, you read that correctly), dropping any dish that I dare to pick up, and yawning so much that I’m seriously afraid that my face will freeze that way. Which, by the way, your mother was right. It really does happen; your face can freeze. When I was 18, I made a pretty vicious face at a stranger who was totally staring too hard at my butt, but that face gave me a crick in my neck so for the next few days, I had to walk around with my head skewed to one side. It wasn’t fair considering said stranger was creepy and three times my age, but I learned my lesson and halted all vicious face-making attempts.
Even Nathan isn’t very fond of Mondays. He usually grumps around, probably because he misses his daddy. Tuesdays are a great cure for the Mondays that eat my weekends. Tuesdays are that much closer to Fridays and those weekends that I enjoy so much.