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Not another ... Monday

Monday's, are my nemesis - and you will know this if you read my blog on a regular basis!  I am not sure why I don't like Monday's - but here a few of my theories:
  • I remember the stress and build up on the Sunday night.  All fun stopped and it was hair washing night and facing the dreaded question - 'did you empty your lunchbox when you came home from school Friday'?  Knowing full well that I didn't and 2 days later, the mostly un-eaten offerings from my mother would have transformed into creatures from the deep.  Especially if it was summer.  I would dread having to delve into my school bag and retrieve the offending plastic box, and like a prisoner on death row, walk the long hallway to the kitchen and face the music.  Then, with a peeved and harassed mother, it would be hair washing.  Don't ever make your mother cross when she has the potential (and alibi) to drown you!

  • Mondays were also the day when you had to re-establish the playground friendships politics.  It was all too common for two girls in the group to have had a weekend playdate, or even more sinister, a sleepover.  New bonds and alliances could be formed in a very short period of time, especially if (a) the parents of both girls socialised as well and/or (b) they did each others hair. Gossip would be rife, and you could easily find yourself on the outer very quickly.  By Wednesday or Thursday, things would have settled down, but Monday was definitely the danger day.

  • Mondays during my early working career were always rushed and stressed and with vows that next weekend we will not party and have hangovers and we will get our washing and housework done.  It was just awful facing Monday morning with the great clean underpant hunt and wishing I was more like my mother and had washed my work uniform early Saturday morning and now it was hanging, ready, in my wardrobe.  Recalling those days now, all I can feel is panic and trying to get ready in chaos.

  • Then came the kids and my mothers pain and frustration became my own. (hmm bloody karma) Wet, smelly and now going mouldy sports clothes would be pulled from the school bag, accompanied by whining and unreasonable children who insisted they needed these today.  Does that mean they have been in the school bag a whole week?  Bad Mother.  Then there was the guilt of trying to cobble together a satisfying yet highly nutritious lunch box - multiplied by two.  After determining that mother Hubbard's cupboard was bare, proffering $10 each for the canteen usually did the trick for the boys - but nothing for your guilt or the household budget.

  • Now the boys are grown and we are empty nesters, Monday's represent another failure.  If I have to go to work on a Monday then it means I failed to pick the right Lotto numbers ... again.

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