Suck it, Monday

6:30am: Wake up 30 minutes later than I like to.  Lay there, try to convince myself to be alive.  Husband says, "Did you remember to buy coffee?"

"No.  Did you?"

"No."

Dammit.  "Starbucks?" I say hopefully.  Yeah right, his look says.

So, no coffee.  Great.  Haul myself out of bed and try to remember what I need to do first.  School clothes.  Do we have them picked out?  Do they need to be ironed?

Ask the girl child.  Spend some time arguing on wardrobe.  Attempt to find school shirts (an increasingly rare commodity for the girl.  I think she eats them).  Iron school shirt.

Dad feeds kids.  I make school lunch.  Dad finds one coffee K-cup and makes me a cup of coffee.  My hero!

 Snack in backpack.  Water bottle.  Book.  Folder.  Okay, she's ready to walk out the door.  Except--

7:07am: Shit, there's the school bus alarm, time to go to the bus stop.  "Grace, I haven't fixed your hair yet!"

Find her in my bathroom with goop glopped on her head.  A pony tail it is, then.

Spray her hair.  "Go get a pony holder.  Hurry!"  I'm still having some crackpipe delusion that she's going to make the bus.

Dad is in the hall, girl child is not coming back with the pony holder, I go to summon her, and I can see her past her dad.  Then she looks at her dad's feet and screams.  I think her brother has thrown something at her.  I look down for the offending item.  It's a roach.  I scream and turn tail back to the bedroom.


I sit on the bed with comb in hand, waiting for dad to do his thing.

The kids evacuate the building and hang out outside.  (No bugs out there, right??)

Dad tears apart the living room, deciding that he might as well vacuum while he's on the hunt.  20 minutes later, the bus is a distant memory, the living room is vacuumed, the boy's school lunch is made, but the roach has escaped.

What, I'm supposed to sit here working all day and just wait for this roach to cozy up to me?  Great.

Take the girl to school.

Text message while I'm gone:  I killed the roach.  Will you get me coffee? 


"You're just saying that so I'll get you coffee.  I want photographic proof."

"I knew you were gonna say that.  I swear I did.  Cole can tell you, except he's gone now. It came right out after you left, and I killed it and tossed it outside.  For real."

Fine.  Off to Starbucks I go.

Arrive at Starbucks.  The good news: I actually put on a bra and flip flops before I jumped in the car to take the girl to school.  The bad news: I did not bring a purse.  I wasn't planning on purchasing anything at the school drop off line.  Sadly, I do not realize this until I get to Starbucks.

Go back home.  Walk in without coffee.  Pick up my purse.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"You got all the way there, didn't you?"

"Yep."

Leave again.  Go back to Starbucks.  Get a 12 cup Gold Coast french press, and I'm off again, back to the house.

Get back home, put the living room back into some semblance of order after the Great Roach Hunt.  Try to turn the lamp on.  He must've unplugged it.  Found the plug, but it's plugged in.  Bulb must be burned out.  Wait, bulb is gone.  When asked later, the husband says he dropped it and broke the bulb and blew the breaker.  Yeah, it was just that kind of morning, apparently.

15 more minutes of my morning goes to finding a new light bulb.

8:55am: Ready to work.  Spend the day working on finishing up October (yes, still; it's the month that seems to never end).

Just in case I don't know by now that I'm on Monday's bad side this week, I have the added pleasure of being told passive aggressively via email to "get my ass off the couch" and put my "thick ass head to some use and THINK period!" (FYI: Being the President of the HOA is fun stuff, too.  All the more reason for the glasses of wine I'm about to have.)

Good times.

Leighanna, I think your advice was best, so here goes.  Suck it, Monday.  I'm done with you.