On Sunday night I stay up late.
I hold my eyelids open, trying to soak up as much quiet, weekend time as I can. I dread the thought of waking up earlier than I’m ready to with chores to do and groceries to buy and babies to keep happy. But this Monday was a different story. I woke up to a kitchen sink filled with dirty plates and dirty clothes covering the bedroom floor. I felt unmotivated and overwhelmed with our dirty house and the long day ahead of me. I sat in bed with the girls thinking Saturday felt so far away. But then it hit me- living for the weekend is a sad way to live. “Getting by” for 5 days out of the week is painful and depressing and not God-honoring. Sure, most days don’t feel like paradise and we are called to work hard, but why do I have this mindset that the mundane week cannot be enjoyed? So i experimented.
I cut my over-ambitious to-do list in half, I put on our favorite segment on KZUM, dance bands, and I tackled the laundry while the girls played. In an ideal world, my house would be spotless all the time. Nothing on the kitchen counters, toys put away neatly, chairs tucked under the dining room table, etc. If you’re a mom you know that’s hilarious and only possible 5% of the time. When my house isn’t as I think it should be, I get grouchy and short with the ones I love. Pretty silly. When I felt that part of myself creeping in, I decided it was time to just get out. Sometimes the best medicine for a cranky attitude is a change of scenery. Even if it means driving around in the car for a few minutes. So we took a coffee over to a dear friend and mama to laugh away our stresses and enjoy a beautiful summer morning.
You see, when you become a mom, it doesn’t take much to experience real joy (an uninterrupted shower, for instance. Hell, even a poop by yourself–you know I’m right). Things like the soft morning chatter at a local coffee shop, the cool breeze on a summer morning, a last-minute drop in for an energy-giving mom chat. These are what spin my wheels. These are what slow me down. These are what turn my “mountains” back into “ant hills” where they belong.
I loaded the girls into the tiny HyVee shopping cart and had to smile as half of the grocery store population was moms and their children. I felt like a part of an unofficial club where we met on Monday mornings to prepare for the week. Giving our middle finger to makeup and fancy clothes and letting our kids be loud and crazy without having to feel apologetic about it. I wanted to fist pump every mom I passed with a cart full of kids and groceries in the open spaces. I didn’t. Instead, Penny waved and greeted every one.
It’s days like these that I used to dream of when we were in Omaha. Morning chats, afternoon errands, meeting for lunch with loved ones. The 90’s at noon on the radio is an added bonus. My tank is as full as my kitchen sink and you know what!? The world won’t end if those dishes stay there a little longer. Sweet relief.
You’re not so bad, Monday.