When Tuesday is Monday
I used to love three-day weekends until kids. Blissful days partying with friends, extra nights to hang out without having to get up early, the short work week that follows – three-day weekends were all around great with no downside at all.
Now…I still love three-day weekends, but with a toddler in the house I really, really hate the Tuesday morning that follows – one where our entire toddler schedule of predictable events breaks down and her little world is crushed by variation (cue ominous music and weeping).
Yesterday morning it resulted in wailing, hiding in my robe (while I was wearing it), three outfit changes, two sock changes, more wailing, grumpy cat impressions, refusals to let go of my leg, my arm, my hand…it was a trial for all of us. And we had to grit our teeth and stay really calm and patient lest we incite the Honey Badger into all-out rebellion – which they’re prone to anyway.
Ah, Tuesday morning after a three-day weekend, there’s no day like it for working mom guilt (unless, of course, it’s a sick kid and you can’t leave to pick them up or stay with them because meetings or deadlines and you’re calling every relative saying, “can you please, please, I’ll-owe-you-forever-please take care of my puking kid while I go to work?”). I know that as soon as she sees her friends at preschool she’ll be enthused about playing with them, and running like a fiend on the playground, and story time, and doing “jobs.” But getting there, eesh!
Meanwhile, it doesn't help that we had a three-day weekend and I feel like we hardly got any time together. We’re re-doing our kitchen and, due to a combination of time and finances, doing most of the work ourselves…since the beginning of April – which means that a three-day weekend is the perfect time to power through and get it finished. Only, Dad-e-lion’s job necessitated working most of that three-day weekend. So, there I was, a house in disarray, caulking, puttying, masking and painting to do, and three kids. Fun!
Um, no. It wasn't fun at all, not for anyone.
Yes, the kitchen is almost finished, and I ran like the wind to get all of the usual weekend chores done – laundry, grocery shopping, basic tidying and all the little tasks that fall by the wayside during the hectic week. But the part where we just hang out and have fun together on a long weekend that’s the unofficial start of summer, not so much.
Quokka and Athena really stepped up and helped, including Quokka unexpectedly giving her sisters pedicures Monday morning while I was caulking new framing for lights on the kitchen ceiling. But I felt cheated out of a fun weekend with my girls, and I’m pretty sure that’s how Badger was feeling too. I tried to squeeze in some fun at the cool community water park my sister invited us to visit with her – but an hour of fun on Monday afternoon didn't seem like enough, or really fair to anyone.
Badger’s major sad yesterday morning, with a bit of a hangover this morning too, was worse even than the usual payment for three-day weekends and seemed like a penance for a long weekend not fully enjoyed. Yeah, I had that coming. The trap of productivity grabbed me by the ankle, and Badger bit me on the ass.
Now…I still love three-day weekends, but with a toddler in the house I really, really hate the Tuesday morning that follows – one where our entire toddler schedule of predictable events breaks down and her little world is crushed by variation (cue ominous music and weeping).
Yesterday morning it resulted in wailing, hiding in my robe (while I was wearing it), three outfit changes, two sock changes, more wailing, grumpy cat impressions, refusals to let go of my leg, my arm, my hand…it was a trial for all of us. And we had to grit our teeth and stay really calm and patient lest we incite the Honey Badger into all-out rebellion – which they’re prone to anyway.
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| Grumpy Badger |
Ah, Tuesday morning after a three-day weekend, there’s no day like it for working mom guilt (unless, of course, it’s a sick kid and you can’t leave to pick them up or stay with them because meetings or deadlines and you’re calling every relative saying, “can you please, please, I’ll-owe-you-forever-please take care of my puking kid while I go to work?”). I know that as soon as she sees her friends at preschool she’ll be enthused about playing with them, and running like a fiend on the playground, and story time, and doing “jobs.” But getting there, eesh!
Meanwhile, it doesn't help that we had a three-day weekend and I feel like we hardly got any time together. We’re re-doing our kitchen and, due to a combination of time and finances, doing most of the work ourselves…since the beginning of April – which means that a three-day weekend is the perfect time to power through and get it finished. Only, Dad-e-lion’s job necessitated working most of that three-day weekend. So, there I was, a house in disarray, caulking, puttying, masking and painting to do, and three kids. Fun!
Um, no. It wasn't fun at all, not for anyone.
Yes, the kitchen is almost finished, and I ran like the wind to get all of the usual weekend chores done – laundry, grocery shopping, basic tidying and all the little tasks that fall by the wayside during the hectic week. But the part where we just hang out and have fun together on a long weekend that’s the unofficial start of summer, not so much.
Quokka and Athena really stepped up and helped, including Quokka unexpectedly giving her sisters pedicures Monday morning while I was caulking new framing for lights on the kitchen ceiling. But I felt cheated out of a fun weekend with my girls, and I’m pretty sure that’s how Badger was feeling too. I tried to squeeze in some fun at the cool community water park my sister invited us to visit with her – but an hour of fun on Monday afternoon didn't seem like enough, or really fair to anyone.
Badger’s major sad yesterday morning, with a bit of a hangover this morning too, was worse even than the usual payment for three-day weekends and seemed like a penance for a long weekend not fully enjoyed. Yeah, I had that coming. The trap of productivity grabbed me by the ankle, and Badger bit me on the ass.
