Monday

There is a hill I frequently run up right by my house.

Today, as I was approaching it, I named it Hoofer. 'Cause it takes some umph.

We made muffins for breakfast while listening to a radio program about German Christmas carols. I heard birds sing out the window. I looked at the twinkle lights and red birds on my mantle.

Laundry.

Bathing, and my favorite part was watching one of the boys and Mia giggling in amusement with each other while splashing. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

(Bathing in totes since we are currently without a bathtub.)

Lunch of nachos (for the boys) and tunafish (for me).

Feeling grateful that it hasn't been a hard Monday. Sometimes on Monday mornings, I feel grouchy with my boys almost the moment I wake up. And when that happens, I dread the week ahead because it almost always seems to curse the rest of the week and I am pulling my hair out. Like last weekend, basically. And it's really hard.

Like this poem I was just reminded of about 30 minutes ago.

Wrong Monday

First the alarm is mute. Forgot the plunger.
I discover the milk is sour right after
I pour it on cereal. I pad
to the door stepping into what the cat
threw up. I clean the floor and then
my hands smell bad. Washing them
I splash my blouse and have to change.
After driving for an hour I remember
I forgot to pack underwear and the speech
I'm paid to give. The next sign
I see is ROAD CONSTRUCTION
NEXT 144 MILES. At that moment
stalled in traffic, my period starts.

--Marge Piercy



So now, my kids are up. Besides being grateful that I don't have an animal to worry about cleaning up their throw up, I am thinking about how we will spend our afternoon. What we'll do for dinner, what we'll talk about at family home evening, thinking that bedtime is 4.5 hours away.

I've got books waiting to be read, laundry to fold, journaling to write, and now, right now...

mothering to attend to.

What can I say, it's Monday.