It's Monday, and I woke up earlier than usual so that I could help James get ready for Dictionary Day at school. He was dressing as "cantankerous" and he needed help putting corn starch in his hair so that it would be gray to aid in his grumpy old man costume. What happened though, was that the corn starch looked less like gray than a severe case of dandruff and it went everywhere, so I spent the next ten minutes trying to get it out of his hair and out of the grooves in our hardwood floors.
You young whippersnappers don't know anything! Why in my day, we walked 5 miles to school. Uphill both ways! Barefoot! In blizzards! And we wore wool underwear!
You kids get off my lawn!
It's Monday, so naturally Mary didn't feel good. Jeezo-beezo, if I had a nickel for every time that girl told me she doesn't feel well or something hurts I could hire a nanny to watch over my children and I could sit on my ever-expanding backside and read trash magazines and drink wine and talk with the other mums about how my nanny was doing a crap job raising my children. Instead, I just get to look over whatever complaint or ailment it is this time, reassure her that she's going to make it to her 8th birthday (maybe. grrr.) and send a prayer up thanking God for my mother, who I am certain, fielded the exact same complaints from me when I was young, as I'm told I was a wee bit of a hypochondriac.
It's Monday, and because Mary refused to get out of bed, I went on an hysterical tirade, ranting and raving about how she is going to bed early tonight come hell or high water. I stormed and muttered and vented and whined. I made sure she knew just how inconvenienced we all were because of her refusal to get up on time.
It's Monday, and it's also Halloween, so of course the threat about the early bedtime will be suspended. Because I am a sucker.
It's Monday, so along with my morning raving came a heaping dose of mother-guilt about what such raving will do to Mary's tender heart.
It's Monday, and my eldest did her own laundry last night so that she might have something to wear this morning. And by "did her own laundry" I mean that she washed her clothes, threw them in the dryer and pawed through the dried clothes this morning to get at what she wanted to wear and left the rest of the clothes hanging out of the dryer and onto the floor. It looks like my dryer barfed.
It's Monday, and I want a Diet Coke but I'm not drinking them, so I'll just drink water. And resent it with every gulp.
It's Monday, and it's Halloween. I hate Halloween. When did it become such a huge holiday? When did my neighbors start decorating for it like they do for Christmas? Wait. Just kidding. I live in a crazy cul-de-sac. They've done it since we moved in--probably before we moved in, I guess. It's like the Halloween aisle at several superstores exploded up in this 'hood. Except for our house. I have mums. I have two pumpkins (which, if I play my cards right, my kids will forget about wanting to carve in their eagerness to begin trick-or-treating). I have a fall wreath on the door. That's it. I'm done, dammit. But I do pass out good candy and I'm generous with it, so I guess the true spirit of the Great Pumpkin abides within me.
It's Monday, and you would never know that I had the downstairs clean on Thursday. Stupid dog. Messy children.
It's Monday, and if I were participating in Dictionary Day, I'm fairly certain my word would be "irascible." Hmph.
If you had to choose a word for yourself today, what would it be?