8:30 Monday Morning

I've always hated Mondays. It meant back to school or back to work. It signified the start of a new week which was always painfully similar to the weeks past. It was a day loaded with new problems or meetings or work. Mondays were always the busiest day of my week.

Sunday nights weren't great either. I would spend Sunday evenings thinking about (and dreading) the next day. When we lived in Korea, the temple next to our house would ring their gong at 6:00 Sunday evening. Completely and wholly depressing.

Things have changed. Last night, Dan was moaning about how disappointed he was that the weekend was over and he didn't want Monday to come. The twins were upset because they knew Monday meant another week of daycare. I was delighted. I now love Mondays. Everybody leaves and I'm on my own! I can do whatever I like, whenever I like and I don't have to consult or "prep" anyone. I can read my book or have a nap or (gasp) go out. All by myself.

I don't typically feel guilty about this. For the last four years I have dedicated every moment of every day to the betterment and fulfillment of my family. I have earned these "breaks" (I am hesitant to refer to grocery shopping, going to the bank, scrubbing the house etc as "breaks", but every mother knows that if you can do these things without young children grabbing your leg, fighting or running off than it is a "break").

Today was fairly typical of my Monday mornings. At 7:30am when Sarah was banging the Hell out of her melon (which I tried to inform her was already dead so she should ease up), when Bethie was moaning because I didn't ante up a dessert for her breakfast, and when Katie was drawing pictures with her jam on the glass kitchen table, I thought to myself "an hour to go!".

At 7:45am when Sarah was putting the clean clothes into the toilet, Bethie was pretending that a mirror was a drum and banging the Hell out of it, and when Katie was asking me if I would like to inspect her green poop, I thought "45 minutes. Hang in there!".

I could barely hang on at 8:00am when Sarah was running around the house naked until Bethie "caught" her by sitting on her.

At 8:05am when Sarah ran into the island in the kitchen (how does one miss seeing that?!) and when Bethie was searching for her shoes by emptying the entire contents of the front hall closet, I knew that I wasn't going to make it to 8:30.

I deployed my secret weapon: the ever pleasing Katie. As I frantically finished getting everyone brushed, cleaned, and dressed I fired out commands to her. "Get Sarah's jacket for me, please", "Put every one's bears and blankies in the Emilie bag", "Go yell at Bethie to put her shoes on". Katie performed beautifully and even took the initiative and went above and beyond my requests (I had to stop her when I heard "1...2...3! Go in the corner, Bethie!"). Believe it or not, we were all out the door at 8:15am.

I dropped the children off at daycare, came home, had a cup of coffee with my feet up while reading my book and thought "I should feel guilty!". But I didn't.