A Case of the Mondays

Mondays.  I f-ing love Mondays.

I always feel like I should get an award for getting through the weekends and making it to Monday.  Much like I used to feel like people should clap for me when I successfully loaded up two kids in the double stroller and made it to the park.  Or when I figured out how to use my BabyBjorn.  Sometimes I admit to looking around to see if anyone was there clapping for my amazing ordinary mothering moments.

I know it sounds awful that I say "getting through" my weekends. 

My husband, Tim, thought it would be a fun idea to make plastic bag shirts for the boys, so they could rip them off and pretend they're old school Hulk Hogan.  Yeah, great idea to teach my insane clown posse to play with plastic bags.  Just another  typical Friday evening around here.

Yes, getting through my weekends is exactly what I mean.  Besides the crazy wrestling games, somebody continually over schedules my family.  And yes, that somebody is me.

Zipping from hockey to baseball to gymnastics and cramming in hair cuts and dentist appointments to boot.  I want an award (or maybe I should be fired?).

Since no one is standing up to hand me a shiny gold medal, I have taken to rewarding myself.  Recently I've been rewarding myself with Nutella.  

I started out allowing myself the sweet indulgence spread onto four small gluten free animal cookies.  It was small jar of Nutella and dude, it's all natural, it's totally healthy.


Well I moved onto six cookies, then seven then simply dipping the cookies into the small jar.  Then I caved and bought the larger jar of Nutella.  I also moved onto finishing the bag of cookies.  Now I simply grab the large jar and a spoon and eat it like cereal.  It may sound excessive and gross, but it's not as weird as those people on TLC that eat toilet paper.


That's what I do to make myself feel better.  To make peace with my reward/excess/can't-quit-Nutella problem.  


My husband and I actually do this with everything.  


Some of these weekends make us wonder if we are sports crazy and pushing our kids too hard.  Then we meet Jane and Bob SportsFamily.  They tell us about the 15 out-of-state tournaments for their five kids.  They tell us how they are banking on college scholarships for their boys and maybe even the big leagues.  


Tim and I look at each other wink and know we are feeling way better about ourselves.  We are SO not crazy like Jane and Bob.


I know it's not right, right?  I shouldn't be dependent on other people for praise or comparisons to make myself feel better.  I shouldn't need Nutella to reward my weary soul.


The end.
Yup, that's the end.  I have no cute anecdote about how you should be okay with yourself and love yourself.  You should enjoy the weekends full of five million activities and love every second of it.  I will not write about how your kids will appreciate all that you do later.  This post will not include a feel good aw shucks moment.  Nope.


Here's my end: I am f-d up and need my Nutella (an award or round of applause wouldn't hurt either).  Hey it could be worse, at least I'm not like those people that need heroin to reward themselves, they are really f-d up.  


I love my kids, but they wear me out to the point that I fall asleep in public places.


"I want to master the art of sleeping without people knowing that I'm sleeping," I told my father after I marveled at his sleuth sleeping ability at my daughter's gymnastic class.


That's MY end.
Happy Monday. For all you tired ass mothers sleuth sleeping somewhere, I applaud you.


Sorry if this was a little harsh to start the week.  It could just be a "case of the Mondays."