The Bosses of Me

The more that time passes by, the more I absolutely abhor Mondays and mornings. Mix Mondays and mornings together, and there is a downright sense of disgust that seethes from my pores when that wretched alarm sounds off at 6.20 in the am. It's even getting to the point that I don't care much for Sundays anymore because I know what's lurking around the bend of the passing of the weekend. Seriously, sometimes Sundays make me want to cry.

And arrive, spiteful Monday and it's evil sidekick morning do, and there's nothing that anyone can do to stop them. They're the bosses of me, of anyone with kids and/or jobs. We're helpless against their powers, and they mercilessly thrust us into another week of relentless absurdity. Mad dashes around town and up and down the interstate. Work. Trips to the market. Meals and the messes they make. School, homework, practices, games. Bed-making. Serious clothes-wearing. As always, there are any number of endless responsibilities that follow mean old Monday and that witch morning.

Usually, after 3 cups of steaming coffee and the unavoidable movement which accompanies hitting the ground running every.week.day, I get into a groove. My bed stops singing it's siren song to me and my forward progress makes greater strides. I shoo Ella and Matt out the door and get Summit and his lunch ready for preschool. I dress for work and proceed with my day. And, as it turns out, it's not as bad as my body just knew it would be to leave the warmth and coziness of the best blanket and pillows that the world has ever known.

After all, I like my job teaching a couple of courses at Midlands Technical College, and I love my lunch break at Panera in between my first and second class. I enjoy picking the kids up from school and the sitter and I relish hearing about what they did throughout their days.

And every Monday afternoon, I meet my dad up at the gym for an ass-kicking spinning class with Chrystyne. She's a beast of an instructor and I know that her workout is going to make me want to do a number of things ranging from crying to throwing up to swearing a great deal. It's that good. Like today, I got to work off the many coconut macaroons that I inhaled this past weekend, and I feel much better now. Today's class was so wonderful that even my dad was cussing. But he should be, considering he'd skipped out on her classes for 2 weeks and he ate an ENTIRE bag of Sweet Sixteen chocolate donuts yesterday afternoon. That's what you get, Dad.

After the gym, I feel rejuvenated and empowered. I go home and return to the unremitting list of things to do, but they don't seem as bad. The homework and the cooking and the cleaning are much more bearable. And at the end of it all, when I've conquered the day, and I have another week until I have to once again meet Monday and its gross friend morning, I find myself feeling alright and I don't even mind Tuesday.

Hey! Maybe Tuesday is my new favorite day of the week.