Monday Monday

March 3, 2008

I have about a zillion things to blog about (or rather, "about which to blog" but whatever). But oh, man. Mondays so totally wipe me out. I am pretty sure that a Monday never goes by that I am not tremendously, absurdly, completely grateful that Mondays do not represent my life.

On Mondays we have to be out of the house by 9:15 a.m. OK, we really should be out of the house by 9:10 a.m., but no one is going to fire us or put us in detention if we are a few minutes tardy.

We go to our enrichment classes (AKA, co-op) until about 2 p.m. I load up my entourage (I usually accumulate three extra children at this point) and am home by 2:30. At 3:15 we have to head back into town to drop off an extra child at dance. We then spend an hour at the library, until it's time to take Laurel to Show Choir. Duncan and I head back home, fix supper, eat supper, and then I head back out to pick Laurel up at 6:30. On many evenings, Jesse has an activity at 7 p.m., from which we would have to pick him up at 9 p.m.

By 9:30 p.m., I am a zombie with outstretched arms and bloodshot eyes. OK, I'm really a zombie by 2:15 p.m., but I have to keep going.

And that's when I get the energy to keep going, because invariably I realize: I only have to do this once a week. Millions of families do this and much more every single day. Millions of women get their kids out the door an hour or two before we leave, get themselves to work, get home at 6 p.m. or later, shuttle the kids here and there--every single day.

I am a total crybaby wimp. But a very, very thankful one. To have this life of freedom--this luxury of relative relaxation and flexibility--is an amazing gift. How can I possibly grumble, how can I possibly complain, when each moment is a living, breathing testimony to this joyful journey? In His infinite wisdom, God knew what life I needed, and for that I can only clasp my hands together and marvel that I should be so blessed.