Mondays

No, not Monday again.

I breathe out, and try to accept the unavoidable ... another Monday morning.

In years gone by, an eternally dishevelled Bob Geldof lamented, "I don't like Mondays." I was eight years old, every day seemed the same, get up, go to school, watch Grange Hill, overlook Blue Peter, eat what's on my plate, in bed by seven thirty. I didn't understand Bob's angst ridden musings on Mondays. Why was this day so rotten, so heinous?

Then I grew up.

And I got it.

On Sunday evening, after the X Factor results, after fleeing into the hopes and aspirations - most rejected, a couple accepted - on Dragons Den, it dawned on me that, yet again, I hadn't made a plan for the week. No menu plan. No order of to do's. No ideas for fun stuff with Little A. Selfishly, the only content satiating the grey matter were flashes, thoughts, clever ideas for future posts...  

Mondays and Fridays are days both dedicated to general domestic toil. But they are diametrically opposed, sat at polar ends of the homemaking spectrum. Friday comes bursting with glee, all chores silver lined, there's a lightness, a playful frivolity when I waft the duvet into its bed cover, it's very nearly the weekend, Younger Dad will be home, I can taste impending rest, I am inches away from my Saturday morning lie in. The bells of Monday, on the other hand, toll the start of, well the start of the working week, and that's it. Monday is another reminder of how aimless and disorganised I can be. Unless it's a Bank Holiday, Fridays always win.        

This Monday morning I am on auto pilot. A pile of clothes need washing. The dish washer needs emptying. Younger Dad fills in the blank holes with further errands, a tie needs dry cleaning, a CD needs posting, his personal assistant needs a birthday present, could I look around for something suitable? I'm becoming a little flustered, there are other pressing jobs too. I consult my filofax, I review the Gruffalo themed calendar hanging in the kitchen, and a cohesion of linear activity unfolds. I have a plan.

Little A and I head into Chiswick. First stop, Turnham Green. I unload the car planting Little A, her scooter and various bags on the pavement. I ask Little A to wait, not to move from her spot. But while I'm bent down tying my trainer lace, I notice the scooter has gone. I look up to see Little A escaping up the pavement, hastily heading towards the main road. "Little A, STOP, come back here NOW." She startles, turns around, sheepishly rolling back towards me. I am cross. "Little A when mummy says STOP, you stop, when mummy says WAIT, you wait. Do you understand?" "Okay mummy." "So what do you do when I say wait." "I stop mummy." I think she got the gist of my lecture. I dismantle the pointing finger.

We drop Younger Dad's tie off at the dry cleaners, it won't be ready until Saturday the assistant says, apparently spot cleaning takes a few days. On to key cutting and shoe repairs, I need a spare set of front door keys, but the shop is frustratingly out of stock on one of the keys required. It seems silly to have replicas made barring one, so annoyingly, I decide to return another day. We drop bags stuffed with old muslins, baby towels and never used swim nappies at the children's charity job. Making our way back to the car, I intermittently continue my warnings about 'wait' and 'stop', Little A oblivious to my parental overtures, stares ahead, watching the trains passing on the overhead bridge.  

On to the supermarket. But first, a birthday card for a little friend, and to deposit an envelope of earnings at the bank. At the card shop, Little A begins relieving the shelves of their cards. At the bank, she insists on sitting on the chairs furthest away from me, those closest to the automatic doors. That scenario is definitely not happening. "Little A, I want you to sit on these chairs near mummy please, and wait there." "Okay mummy, I'm going to stop for you." She's getting it...

Monday morning is the big grocery shop, I want to get it over and done with as soon as I can. Little A is determined to walk but after wandering the length of one aisle she's had enough, and I squeeze her back into the trolley, much to my relief - after reading this post - so for now, I prefer her chained and padlocked to my side. I make sure to treat myself to a pain au chocolate, and Little A, an In the Night Garden magazine; the Makka Pakka plastic toy (and sponge) had already snared two little eyes before I had the remotest chance of any diversion. Great. More tat.

Monday is the day my purse is refilled with pointless coupons. I don't find these enticements brighten my day in any shape or form. '£0.82 off your next shop'. That's debit busting. 'If you spend £70 on your next shop, you'll get 450 extra points.' I never spend over £70 at this establishment, and I'm unlikely to ever fill the trolley with extra eggs, pasta, fishcakes, a new grater for some added points that will grant me another '£1.02 off my next shop'.

Back at home, I'm tired. Worn out. Little A, owing to the morning's lack of exercise, is offensively buoyant. Monday's have increasingly become a no nap day, today is no exception. She attempts to settle but those peepers ain't shuttin. No nap. No rest bite for me. I plan on later penning the beginnings of this post while Little A enjoys her 'just before tea time' allowance of CBeebies. But then I remember, Monday is bin day... the oogie poogie bin (food waste), the kitchen bin bag, the nappy bin, and the recycling...

And while I'm disposing the bags of waste, rotting food, cardboard, glass, plastic, paper, I realise that I'm feeling short tempered, a wee teary, and it's not just today, it's been for the last few days. My irritability could spell a slide into lower mood, I'm sensitive to the change in season, and I worry, will this mean I need to increase my dose of medication?

But today I awoke to Tuesday,  and it's been a brighter, more spacious day, and I felt fine.

After writing this, I sat back wondering what the point to this post was, then it became clear... I was writing about Monday after all.

What are your Mondays like?

It's very belated, but I'm also linking this post up with the excellent Monday Club.