Monday, Monday

Warning: this post contains a whiny rant written by someone who has only herself to blame. Enabler discretion is advised.


Reflections of  gardening appear to be the theme today.  I myself am reflecting that bending over to weed a memorial garden for a couple hours is a fine reason to wake up the next morning in excruciating pain.  It feels like someone took a baseball bat to the backs of my thighs.  Anything I drop today is gonna stay there.  I’m also somewhat sunburned—I remembered to sunscreen the back of my neck and ears, but I figured the rest of me would be sufficiently in my own shadow.  Obviously, I’m neither a gardener* nor someone who understands how UV works.

It’s my husband’s birthday today, and it totally slipped my mind that it’s my late Monday at the library, which means he’ll have to broil the salmon I started marinating in soy sauce and maple syrup last night, and I can’t even buy him lunch, since I start work at eleven.

I also forgot that his gift—a case for his laptop stuffed full of the kids’ Ode to Daddy artwork, cards, and a few other things**—is in the back of my car.  He says we’ll celebrate with gifts and cake when I get home, but that only exacerbates the guilt.  The man is putting off  his birthday for me.  Then again, it’s his forty-third, so maybe the delay is part of his gift?  Probably shouldn’t ask.

The bridge is down to one lane over the river, and will be until November—Janie took some photos of the traffic and the construction as I cursed under my breath in the front seat.  She kept telling me to slow down and I kept asking if she was joking.   We were about halfway across when she announced that she hadn’t had breakfast.

I was too busy eyeballing the concrete dividers they’d run up the yellow line and trying to remember the weight limit of the bridge to give her the standard lecture, plus it was my fault I’d dragged her out of the house so early—I’d been trying to beat the bridge traffic—so once we reached our off-ramp, I stopped at Starbucks, ordered a venti chai tea latte,  and waited for her to decide, already.  Ten minutes later, in the interests of world peace, my blood pressure, and getting her to school today, I let her have a couple of cake balls on sticks for breakfast.  I know—Mother of the Year, me.***

I just fumbled my cup and am now wearing a considerable amount of chai tea latte down my front.  Luckily, I’m wearing my chai tea-colored top, so it should dry well, but it’s only nine am and the day is stretching out before me like a looooooong, painful, guilty, late, cake-balled, fumbly, damp, lightly-stained thing.

Go, Monday.  Hip, hip, meh.


Image courtesy of You Know Who.

*Told another volunteer that I had an anti-green thumb for anything but weeds, and then asked her which plants were the weeds and which plants were intentional (in my defense, it was a native wildflower garden, so it was genuinely difficult to tell).  She grinned and said, “Well, if it’s healthy, pull it, and if it looks sick or frightened, leave it alone.”    I like these people.

**Thanks to everyone for all the great suggestions.   I was hoping to use MSB’s tonight, but that would depend on the power of Advil . . .

***I didn’t let her touch the coconut Mai Tai espresso sampler shots, though, so I deserve a point for that.  My child on caffeine  . . . holy cow.