A Case of the Mundays

Apparently, moving back to an amazing city where my husband has an amazing job and we had an amazing weekend and we have amazing friends DOES NOT mean that we are immune to a harsh "case of the Mundays."

If you're waiting for THAT THING that will make EVERYTHING BETTER. Or if you ascribe to the belief that when every external circumstance falls into place, you're life will finally be the sunset pony ride into the happily ever after unicorn rainbow land...well, this story goes out to you, all my homies.

Let's get a little background.

We've moved. It's been hard (as moving is), but it's been great as we have old friendships to enjoy, old favorite spots to introduce the girls to, and new favorites to explore together. Life at this moment seems full of endless possibility and hope. It's a good place to be.

My little fam enjoyed a weekend of shopping and visiting at TWO different and completely legitimate farmers' markets. It was one of those mornings (Saturday) where we bought that blueberry scone for the girls (even though they had already had breakfast) and we danced to the live music and we chatted and smiled with strangers. We acted like we weren't meeting strangers. We made friends with the local Ethiopian food vendor, Harigu (whose name I am probably butchering). We sat  in our backyard and pretended to be trees and listened to the hubs play the guitar. I mean, it was saccharine levels of annoyingly sweet family goodness.

So, I planned on taking my beautiful kiddos to the Ga Art museum. After such a great weekend, certainly my precious baby-smelling toddlers deserved a trip that (despite recent evidence contrary to the thought) they could totally handle. I went to sleep Sunday night just excited to wake up to the beauty that was my life. Oh, how pride (delusion) comes before the fall (reality).  

5:30 AM Monday. Wake to older daughter crying. Overhear husband calmly talking to her and starting the bath tub. Walk down the hall to check in. Wet bed. Not anything we can't handle. We do have plastic sheets. Strip bed, put linens in wash. Hear baby number two ask to get in the bath. Think nothing of it and go about my business.

5:50 AM Walk back to the bedroom to check on hubs. He's reading. Good morning hug. About to ask how he slept when "Mom! Dad! I pooped on the potty!" Give tremendous cheer and a "That a girl." "Mom! Dad! Clara ... in the bathtub." Can't make out what has happened. Husband and I head to bathroom to check.

Oh. "Clara POOPED in the bathtub." Gotcha. Too early. No coffee. Brain can't really process what I am looking at. Husband and I proceed to laugh hysterically while both daughters develop a growing concern that we have indeed lost our minds.

6 AM Finish cleaning girls' bathroom. Resign myself to not having a magazine clean house for the next 15 years and decide that a "lived in" house is much better.

6:15 Tub-pooper starts coughing. Bed wetter throws tantrum. Tub pooper not eating (her favorite thing). Bed wetter throws another tantrum. Tub pooper throws tantrum resulting in gross nose and more coughing.

Husband and I make telepathic executive decision that trip to museum shall be postponed indefinitely.

We all eat breakfast. Husband gets ready for work even though Tub pooper seems adamant that he not leave and demands a philosophical discussion of the merits of work and labor.

Bed Wetter and Tub Pooper begin begging to watch "Brave" which is apparently the "Make you feel better" movie in our house. I agree with this. I mean, I feel better that I have not been turned into a bear and/or am being chase by a separate angry bear.

7:30 Husband leaves for work - having not been convinced (by yours truly) that today is actually "Let Your Wife Go to the Office in Your Place" Day.

I immediately put on "Brave." Girls request all manner of stuffies, lovies, low-lighting, and momma cuddles.

So very thankful for a case of the Mundays, that life isn't perfect, and that we can laugh our way through it.

How's your Monday going?

No comments:

Post a Comment