I’ve got a case of the Mondays. It’s almost guaranteed that I’ll have a case of the Mondays on Monday. No matter how great a weekend we had, no, wait, in fact because of the great weekends we have, it always makes me sad to go our separate ways on Mondays. I think it’s the pace of the weekend. Cartoons in bed, lazy days at the beach, evening play dates at the park, movie nights with popcorn, dragging out our telescope to check out the moon (although it may seem counter-intuitive, it’s not so easy to see stars in L.A.), even errands are fun on the weekends. Spending time together is easy on the weekends. It happens naturally on the weekends. I never feel like a B.M. (Bad Mom, to be clear) on the weekends.
Then Monday comes with the relentless beeping of the alarm clock, sending me scrambling to work out (thanks for cutting that down to 20 minutes, Jillian!), shower, dress, and make three lunches before I wake up Emma (nothing sadder than waking a sleeping child). Then the facade of a relaxed, slow pace. Emma has breakfast; I round up the darks and toss a load in the washer. Emma puts her dishes in the sink; I unload the dishwasher (I’ve got it down to 90 seconds). She brushes her teeth; I realize I only put eye makeup on one eye. She recites her spelling words; I search high and low for the car keys. Happy conversation on the two-minute drive, scramble for a parking space (is there anything worse?), get in line, kisses, hugs, and off she goes. And off I go. Trading in two days of together-time fun on the weekend for 57 minutes on a Monday morning… anyone else have a case of the Mondays?