Not just another manic Monday

Turn the light on, I told my husband, Troy, at 5:45 this morning as we lay paralyzed in our bed unable to shake off the exhaustion preventing our heavy eyelids and comatose bodies from responding to the alarm clock ruining everything, maybe that will help.

It started last evening around 7:00 pm, the Sunday malaise signaling the dawn of a brand new week void of any pleasant disruptions, such as a national holiday or unseasonably warm weather. When finally we did pull back the covers, just in time to race around all flustered, making breakfast, preparing school lessons, pouring copious amounts of coffee into to-go cups before parting ways, I felt immediately the mounting pressure to be very, very productive. And yet, as usual, I had no plan - no fool-proof method for rounding up chaos and transforming it into order.

So it was manic alright, my Monday. It was laundry this and squabble that and Mom, I don't want to...(just fill in the blank, anything will apply). It was going to be typical, I figured, pretty textbook in its lack of noticeable highlights and ability to frustrate this stay-at-home mother and her four antsy children, still all revved up from our special weekend. But, boy oh boy, it turns out I was mistaken.

You see, on this date, the 12th of January, I was not born. Thanks to three-year-old Mary, who remembered that fact and then shared it with her siblings, my afternoon would defy the blah Monday odds by turning strangely celebratory. There was Play-Doh cake and singing and a too brief respite from the intensity of my responsibilities. There was a minute or two when all cares and concerns were forgotten in the excitment of this, my 72nd (I know, can you believe it?!) un-birthday.

And that is honestly all I have tonight to offer you in terms of optimism. It was a stressful day, a long day, a blur of plain old hard work and isolation punctuated by this one unusual occurrence. It is essential, now, that I grab hold of that singular sweet memory and release the remaining tension and regrets. Move on!

I didn't have time to register for gifts, by the way, but if you're interested in sending a little something to me (you know, in honor of this most recent non-milestone), just let me know and I'll provide you with a few tasteful suggestions. In the meantime, I'll drink this glass of red wine and toast the silence in my house. Cheers to 8:00 pm bedtimes and tomorrows!