Let’s Abolish Mondays

Mondays can be rough no matter what. It’s hard to get going again after a weekend. My Mondays are even more sketchy because I have therapy sessions on Monday mornings. Depending on the type of session, I can find myself mentally exhausted before noon on a day when I typically have a ton to do. So, my Monday looked like this today, Dropped Thing 2 at school at 7:45. Drove the 20 miles home. Did a training session with the puppy. Showered. Drove 22 miles back to the city for therapy and did some tough, emotionally draining work there for an hour. Ran to the liquor store for beverages for a party we’re hosting on Thursday. Stopped by the bank. Drove to two stores to knock off some holiday shopping. Made it home by 2. Ate a little lunch, wrapped a couple gifts, and did some laundry. Left at 3 to pick up some items at a store before collecting Thing 2 at 4:15. I arrived home at 5, just in time to let the dog out and greet hubby who picked up takeout for dinner. The rest of my night has been a blur because I am spent, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I could have fallen asleep at the dinner table, but I powered through.

Steve and I were discussing tonight that the work weeks in the United States are insane. No one needs to be working 40+ hours per week. Wouldn’t we be a much better, healthier, happier, more relaxed, less bitter and homicidal nation if we worked 32 hour weeks and had a day off mid-week instead of just having two days on a weekend? I mean, I know it’s better now than it was back in the mid-1800s when people had to cut lumber to build their own homes and then dig their own wells and grow all their own food. I get it. We’re pretty cushy with our air fryer ovens and indoor plumbing and all, but it’s all what you’re used to. Our lives go at six million miles an hour these days, and it is taxing. It’s no wonder we live for Fridays and want to run away on Mondays. We are inundated with information and news and bombarded with ads and requests for our attention. And, in the midst of all of this, we try to maintain relationships and households. It’s no wonder pioneer folks had their kids working by age 6. They couldn’t do it all without help either.

I think my corgi puppy, Loki, summed Mondays up best when I tried to capture his photo this morning:

Monday mood

Adulting is hard.

Puppies And Toddlers…Basically The Same Experience

It’s been a while since I cared for a young child. Tonight, though, I was reminded of that long since past experience courtesy of our newest family member.

We decided to try the puppy on a short walk not long after dark. He has made it most of the way around our block on leash once already, so we figured it would be good to try again. I should have known our endeavor would not go as well this time because, as I was working to put his harness on, he wrestled and squirmed like a toddler recognizing that his pajamas mean bedtime is imminent. Once we had him outfitted for the walk, we went out the front door and he sat down, bit the leash, and refused to move. Undeterred, I picked him up and walked him down to our yard, where he walked into the grass, and threw himself down in a pouty, dramatic sploot, belly down with feet splayed out behind him, chin on the ground. Still, I thought since Ruby was walking ahead of him, he might perk up so I picked him up and walked on. Along the way, I several times tried again to see if he would follow Ruby’s lead and walk. Each time, he dramatically flung himself onto the grass in a petulant, defiant show of stubbornness. I gave up and carried him the rest of the way so at least Ruby would enjoy the walk.

One of Loki’s corgi toddler tantrums

When we got close to home, Ruby and Steve went ahead. Loki started whimpering. I know that sound might mean he needed to use the grassy facilities, so I set him down in our neighbor’s yard. He walked a couple steps forward and, sure enough, started doing his business. I praised him for his effort, pulled out my iPhone so I could train the flashlight on his deposit, and waited for Steve to come back out. I was afraid if I didn’t mark the spot, we would forget where it was, and I didn’t want to leave our new neighbors (whom we just met last night) an unwelcome puppy prize. While I was waiting for Steve to return with a poop bag, I set our mail on the ground. There was a bag from J Crew. Loki amused himself by gnawing on it. He was dragging it around and as the bag got closer to his mess, I panicked. I tried to grab the bag from him and he resisted, backing up onto his fresh pile, squishing it between his little white feet. Dammit. I’d saved the bag, but now the dog would need a bath.

Oh…the indignity

Steve put the dog in the utility sink while I dug around for the mildest soap I could find. I knew we didn’t have any puppy soap, so I settled for a mild castille soap since we would targeting his feet. It was only his second bath and we quickly discovered bathing is not his favorite. We got his feet washed, both of us working to get the wriggling ball of fur through the ordeal as quickly as possible. We wrapped him in a towel, and tried to dry him as best as we could. He flipped and flopped and gnawed at the towel, little puppy growls of annoyance coming from underneath as if he was cursing us, which he probably was.

When we’d decided he was dry enough, we set him loose. Clean, invigorated, and freed from his unpleasant experience, he started running around the laundry room with increased fervor. He’d gotten his second wind. He went straight for the door stopper, bit at it several times, and barked at it for mocking him. Then he turned around and started chewing on my shirt. It seemed like it might be witching hour and I was out of energy for this, so off to puppy jail he went. Once inside his pen, he crawled up onto his new bed, collapsed, dropped his chin onto the edge, and began to close his eyes. He was done. And so were we. All three off us exhausted and ready for sleep.

Then Ruby pushed her stuffed candy corn toy at me. The rest of us might be out of energy, but this one isn’t. I can’t remember how I survived these nights when our sons were 2 and 4. Earlier today, those days would have seemed like a million years ago. After tonight, they feel like yesterday.