I’ll tell you why … I don’t like Mondays (after weekends away)

What’s relaxing about a weekend away? You pack like a whirling dervish. You drive like a bat out of hell to get there. You take sleeping tablets and earplugs to combat foreign sleeping conditions. You get stuck in traffic jams driving back. You arrive home late on a Sunday night and NOTHING has been done. No washing, no cleaning, no grocery shopping, no prep for the week ahead. You wake up on Monday morning and …

6am: Check emails, texts and blog site statistics while dressing.

6.15am: Sneak out for quick walk to loosen elderly joints.

6.45am: Nip into Coles to buy missing ingredients for Sprogs’ lunch bags. Plus Halloween candy for trick or treaters.

7am: Release chooks from nesting box so they can squawk loudly without fear of neighbours complaining.

7.05am: Sprog 2 rises and requests warm milk, buttered toast, Sultana Bran and Charlie & The Chocolate Factory on TV.

7.10am: Pour meagre Halloween candy into bowl, realise have seriously undercatered. Scrabble around in cupboards and discover dodgy bag of “Sour Ears” lollies from Easter Showbag. Eureka! Plus bag of Freckles from Sprog 2’s birthday in March. Choose not to check expiry dates, add to Halloween bowl.

7.15am: Notice chooks have escaped. Spend 15 minutes rounding them up, then another 15 minutes hiding behind picnic table, surveilling their new escape route. Catch them squeezing through hole in fence. Grab chooks with one hand and big rock with the other to plug gap.

7.45am: Chop fruit for Sprogs’ lunchbags. Duck out to car to retrieve and refill drink bottles. Search for Sprogs’ uniforms. Find Sprog 2’s in dirty heap behind bed, briefly consider sponging it clean, decide its beyond redemption, thrust her into Sprog 1’s old glue-stained one instead.

8am: Shower and dress self.

8.15am: Realise Sprog 1 is still asleep and yell her to wakefulness. Ask what she wants for breakfast. She requests porridge, knowing it takes the longest to prepare and will afford her another three minutes in bed.

8.20am: Remember it’s Halloween day at school. Shove vampire cape into Sprog 1’s school bag. Embark on frantic search for missing vampire teeth.

8.35am: Give up on missing vampire teeth – after extensive admonishment of Sprog 1 about the importance of safeguarding her possessions –  and start doing Sprogs’ hair. Discover vampire teeth in bottom of hair-ribbon bowl.

8.40am: Realise school band “permission to test child’s blowing ability” form is due today. Scribble signature. Realise school keyboard lesson form was due on Friday. Scribble belated signature. Instruct Sprog 2 to beg and plead.

8.45am: Throw school bags in car, discover unsigned paperwork for Husband’s and my tax returns, due at tax office today. Frantically scribble 25 signatures on forms with no real idea what I’m signing. Husband checks handiwork, informs me I’ve missed four signatures. Frantically sign more paperwork. Husband wonders if I can drop off tax returns to accountant, as he’s running late for work. Appear to graciously agree, but secretly fume.

8.55am: Remember it’s library day for Sprog 2 and news day for Sprog 1. Dash into house from carport, screaming to Husband for urgent assistance. Locate two-week overdue library book. Check news topic list on fridge and breathe sigh of relief at the words “free choice”. Husband chucks paper mache owl at me. Dash out of the house and chuck paper mache owl at Sprog 1.

9am: Screech out of driveway, warning children to behave as we are very, very late and Mummy is very, very stressed.

9.05am: Toss Sprogs out of the car at the school gate. Do frantic u-turn and head to accountant.

9.20am: Pull up in no-parking-until-9.30am metred parking zone. Sprint down street to accountant. Arrive at front desk and realise don’t know name of accountant. “Marianne, perhaps? Maria …?” Front desk woman shakes head, not Marianne, not Maria.

9.30am: Stuck in Harbour Bridge traffic. Teeth begin to clench – am due at friend’s house at 9.30am.

9.50am: Finally arrive at friend’s house, apologise profusely in crazy-lady way. Go for walk with friend and her giant poodle. Spend most of walk complaining about hectic, stay-at-home-mum schedule.

11.30am: Apologise profusely in crazy-lady way about needing to dash off to find “shimmy tights” for Sprog 2’s dance concert rehearsal tomorrow.

12pm: Arrive at ballet shop bang on rush hour. Eventually (and resentfully) hand over $24 for a pair of tights Sprog 2 will wear only once, as she’s ditching dance lessons after concert.

12.15pm: Grab takeaway and Diet Coke to relieve tension headache.

12.30pm: Quick spot of Xmas shopping at Toys R Us. Pile booty onto the counter, only to discover debit card is missing. Credit card also missing. Try an old American debit card, but it’s declined. Leave Xmas shopping on counter and trudge out.

12.45pm: Join slowest post office queue in the world to collect registered mail delivery.

12.55pm: Duck across road to butcher to buy rump steak for dinner with last dollars in wallet.

1pm: Turn house upside down looking for debit card. No luck. Call Coles to check if I left it there. Put on hold for 7.31 minutes. Finally realise debit card is in hoodie pocket. Hang up on Coles. Credit card still missing.

1.45pm: Frantically tidy up hallway to avoid embarrassment over appalling mess when trick or treaters = with their accompanying, judgemental adults – peer in.

2.30pm: Jump into car and drive to second post office, in next suburb, to collect additional registered post item. Seriously, what’s that about, Australia Post?

3pm: Collect Sprogs from school, take them home, hound them mercilessly to put on their dancing outfits. Realise Sprog 2’s vampire bat costume – for trick or treating after dancing – is missing. Vampire bat costume finally located in obscure toy box in craft room.

3.45pm: Toss Sprog 2 into dance lesson.

4.30pm: Extract Sprog 2 from dance lesson, toss in Sprog 1. Dress Sprog 2 in vampire bat costume, add drops of face-paint blood to chin. Tell Sprog 2 not to touch chin until paint dries. Reapply face-paint blood when Sprog 2 immediately rubs chin. Take Sprog 2/vampire bat scootering in park.

5.15pm: Extract Sprog 1 from dance lessons, dress her in vampire cape, apply black lipstick. Go trick or treating. Insane. Terrifying. Like hordes of giant, scary locusts roaming streets.

6.30pm: Take Sprogs home for dinner. Poke under broody chook’s bum for eggs while waiting for pasta water to boil. Make Sprog school lunches for tomorrow.

7.30pm: Put Sprogs to bed. Cook dinner for Husband and self. Write grocery list for tomorrow. 

9pm: Collapse in bed. Exhausted. Vow never to go on weekend away again, then remember am driving to Cessnock on Saturday. Damn.

TONIGHT’S DINNER: Lamb racks with a grilled zucchini, feta, lemon and mint salad.

4 thoughts on “I’ll tell you why … I don’t like Mondays (after weekends away)

Add yours

  1. nuthing better than the time i got back in my day once i could finally trust my ferals 2 make their own breakfasts (& clean up the bench)…

  2. Nothing achieved here over the weekend wither due to School Open Day/fair on Saturday and then a quick trip to Sydney (from Orange) to pick up a dining room table and chairs on Sunday. Then I worked yesterday and the washing is piled up now waiting to be folded, though at least it is clean, except for the stray school socks. 😦

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