Sometimes Mondays Happen

and you’re totally unprepared for them.

Sometimes you stayed up way too late hanging out with friends, drinking gin and tonics, letting your kids watch Jimmy Neutron on repeat, and then watching Aliens with your husband because you just couldn’t rest until you saw Sigourney Weaver being her pre-butch, badass self.

Sometimes you wake up on a Monday morning with all kinds of children laying on top of you and you can’t remember where you are or how these children got there and for the love of God, would their mother please come get them off of you?

And sometimes when you remember that they’re yours, you smile and give them kisses while inwardly cursing their unfailing little internal clocks that chime precociously at o-frak-thirty every.single.morning.

Sometimes you roll out of bed with a headache that may or may not have been caused by excess of tonic water that found it’s way into your gin, and which may or may not actually be a hangover, and you realize that you won’t admit to it on your blog because you may lose some readers or all of them.

Then you remember that your readers are pretty

and they’d never leave you for such an indescretion.

You hope.

And sometimes you remember that you’re moving next week, and that you haven’t been able to find your carpet for days under all the books and clothes strewn about, and that your precious son chose this day to begin crawling in earnest, and that as you stand there, staring at the chaos surrounding you, he’s probably eating something that is most certainly not food and is hopefully at least digestible and not the rotting corpse of a decomposing fly, which you suspect he ate yesterday given the disgusting residue around his mouth.

Sometimes you keep staring at the mounds of clothes heaped on the floor, mocking you with their un-packed-ness, and pretend not to hear the violent thwacks and shrill screams coming from the other room because you know it’s just your two little girls, trying to kill each other as best they can with any available weapon, and you wish they would just get on with it already because no matter how many times they scream “Mommy! Charlotte/Sienna hit me with a stick on the head for no reason at all except in obvious retaliation for my continuing brutality!” you’re just not going to intervene this time, at all. Those little savages are on their own today, and you’re kind of looking forward to re-visiting Lord of the Flies and begin to wonder idly if you should try to find a conch shell to keep them in line.

Sometimes, you wander over to the computer to google conch shell because you’ve always wondered what one looks like and dammit, today’s the day you’re gonna find out. You owe yourself that much. And then, sometimes, instead of dealing with one fraction of your daily responsibilities, you hide behind the computer screen, sipping coffee and clicking through several interesting posts about basically nothing that make you laugh.

And sometimes you write your own post and feel exponentially better, and thank God for blogs.

(Oh, and in case you’re wondering, this is what a conch shell looks like)

You’re welcome