Every week, as Monday morning dawned, I found that the early hours were providing my tribe (primarily my two youngest) a less-than-stellar experience. We were waking up disheveled, confused, unaware of how to focus or conquer regular activities of daily living.
My Mom-Voice was taking on new volumes and tones. My eyebrows were seeming to meet my hairline. My index finger was doing entirely too much pointing at 6:30AM.
Each Sunday night the butterflies arrived and the dread of Monday-Morning-Mania was upon me.
A few weeks ago, I stomped my foot on Monday-Eve: NO! Not tomorrow! Not in my house ANYMORE!
Mondays, you try to trip us up each week. You try and break us with your crankiness, exhaustion and “WHERE ARE MY UNIFORM PANTS?” moments. Your goal: render the rest of the week completely and utterly useless. But, not this time! We Wanderer-Women are slowly learning your strategy. We are keeping up with your moves.
After five years of being discombobulated on the dawn of each Monday, we have learned your secret: Sunday Night.
As the sun began to set on Sunday and we waved goodbye to our weekend, each Wanderer-Woman packed her back pack, finished her homework, laid out her uniform and even got to bed on time.
As the sun rose, you attempted to party with your Monday-Morning-Mayhem.
And. We. Attacked.
I know where my uniform pants are!
My backpack folder is ready and Mom has already signed it!
My lunchbox is packed!
I am not even tired-cranky because I got my sleep!
My gosh, the youngest Wanderer even had a spare moment to log some reading hours.
Monday, we have your number. The Wanderer-Women were all over conquering your crazy.
At least for this week…