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This morning was a triple-shot kind of day. Hubby had to be at an early morning meeting, the alarm clock wouldn’t stop playing the theme song to “The Office”, and Madison had been rendered comatose after a late-night of silent romping. I loaded my Illy into the espresso machine and served up raspberry steamed soy milk to the masses while waiting to take in my dark knight. Save the day? Hardly. The E.S.E. pod exploded and I was left with some sort of a light amber colored elixir; and unlike peanut butter, the added chunkiness was not welcomed…

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Don’t you hate it when mornings start like that? Like when you awake to a blinking alarm clock, dribble blue toothpaste on your crisp white shirt or bruise your hip on the bull-nosed edge of your granite counter top? Some days don’t you want to throw your hands into the air and yell, “Uncle?” After all, it’s not like you spanked a chicken in front of PETA and devised a plan to leave the in-laws with a fructose-filled four year old…for a month. Although I’m sure that could be arranged.

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You’re a good person. Keep telling yourself that. Again and again…and again. It might sound redundant but no more than the reflection of that charcoal cloud that hovers and circles as you stare into the mirror shaking your head. Like a hurricane over Disney World, dangerous cumuli will soon blow over and you can once again skip off into the sunset.

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Let me assure you, I believe in Mondays. I really do. I believe they can be just as good as any old Tuesday. I have faith. It just depends on what kind of Monday graces my path. How about you?

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 It’s 12:01am and it’s Monday…and heck, I’m already tired. Not so much head heavy. More along the lines of emotionally drained. And the week hasn’t even begun. Crap.

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Ever have one of those days when you ask yourself what the heck you are doing with your life? What your legacy will be? What your epitaph will read? (Oh come on, it’s October. The question is admissible…)

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So do you?

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I do.

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Everyday.

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The question, like a year-old moldy tomato, usually gets hidden behind everyday life. Like “What’s for dinner?” “What’s for lunch?” and…the inevitable, “What’s for dinner?” Sure, there’s the occasional “Where the heck are my warm fuzzy slippers?” and even the random, “What was I thinking!?!”, but understand that these are not the only sides that the round funky veggie (yes, some argue it’s a fruit…so be it) gets lost behind.

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There’s the child asking, “Why do I have to brush my teeth?” and “I don’t have any clean underwear. Where are my underwear?” The husband asking, “Can you pick up that Dill Havarti and sweet tea when you run to the grocery store today?”…and the acceptance that while trying to pick up that Dill Havarti and sweet tea, that the 99 cent recycle bags (that you were so gung-ho to purchase) are sitting right where you left them - on the kitchen table, baskng in the sun. Oh how you long to be there with them. Yes, so much for the “Green Samaritan” who’s going to save the world of filth and destruction! (Yes, go ahead, throw that green cape to the floor and stomp on it…if it makes you feel better.)

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Most Moms love being Moms. Trust me…and immensely. After all, being a parent is an incredible journey. The women of the tribe are just plain tired. Ok, tired and in need of adult conversation. Ok, tired…adult conversation…and a haircut. Anyways, you catch my drift. Although somehow I feel like I need to follow that up with a “Wonga Wonga”?

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(And a picture of this. Just because I’m feeling a bit sassy today.) . Somewhere the line blurred, the lights dimmed and “Nope…sorry, no one’s home!” is the only sound that echoes miles around. A crusty-eyed woman in a pink bath robe, and a hairstyle from 1982, is left searching in the silence for a simple crackle. Electricity…a spark…anything…just so she knows that there is an answer to the question, “Why am I here?…Why?” Believe me. You may not hear it clearly, but she’s asking.

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Listen, this isn’t about pouting and throwing a hissy fit. This is reality. There’s no time to pout. Dammit there are beds to be made. But every once in awhile, when condiments have been depleted, sides have been scarfed, and that old moldy tomato resurfaces. Acknowledge it. I’m not saying you have to devour it, but spend quality time with it. I don’t know, strap it in, put the top down and take it for a joy ride. However you do it, make sure you also take a good look at the growth. Over time, underneath all the gray matter, yes…there still lies a rich center with many seeds to be sown.

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Oh how I long to be motivated today. Well that, and for some reason I feel like a bowl of spaghetti…

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You know how I love a great deal?  I do, if you don’t.  I’ll admit that I’ve purchased items that I don’t really need because they were such a great deal.  Like the giant alphabet stamps for $4.99, that $3 melamine bowl that spins on its own lazy susan, the gallons and gallons of “Oops” paint… Seriously, who doesn’t look for a great deal?  The question is, do you do cartwheels out the front door after-the-fact, even if the item eventually sits in the garage for a season or two before you pawn it off on a naive friend?

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Some might think I have a problem, but I like to look at it simply being in denial.  Like those suede black boots I bought last week.  They weren’t draped in a red and white clearance sign; only a measly white $5 off sign.  A $5 delimna that took me two hours to fork over my Visa because they were nearly full price.  If time were money, I’d be in foreclosure over those winter foot warmers with bold-but-sassy-buckles.  Sadly, there isn’t a weekly meeting for that one.

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With the economy the way it is, isn’t everyone cutting back a little?  After all, I had to buy an espresso maker so I could forgo my weekly pleasure of raspberry and steamed soy swirled in piping hot goodness.  Ok, maybe that’s not the kind of example I was thinking of. But seriously, haven’t you caught yourself saying, “For vacation this year let’s go camping and search for new wildlife…er, in our own backyard” or “Let’s plan a romantic dinner…er, in?”

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Instead of getting angry over the economic crunch, society has definitely taken a kinder and gentler approach to denial, “Simplify your life” Oprah exclaims.  Of course, while you’re shopping garage sales to Reduce, Re-Use and Recycle, she’s eating escargot and fine wine in Barbados and buying $80 slings to hold her “Sisters” up… “Made in China” of course.  Just sayin’.

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There’s a lot going on in each of our lives, but when it comes down to it, aren’t we all just trying to survive?  At times I find it hard to be thankful for having to put an extra sweater on rather than turning on the heat, going vegetarian for a meal, or choosing water over an overpriced bubbly with syrup; but at the end of the day, when the coins are all placed neatly in a row, there’s more to happiness than “having it all”.

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I don’t know, I keep telling myself that anyways.

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I wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I knew my boundaries. Only hopeful about victories and secretly always plotting an imaginary spelling-bee “take-over”. I was a “planner”…A kid with a procrastinating mission. “There’s always tomorrow,” I would optimistically whisper when I got an 89%. Grade school had it in for me, but it couldn’t beat me down. Even at the ripe age of 9, I wouldn’t let it.

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By the time I hit Junior High, I had a new outlook. Sure I had given up great-fitting smart pants, but what’s that they say, “When one door closes, another one opens?” I felt the breeze and ran for it. Unfortunately for me, extra-curricular activities landed me bench-side and with nose pressed up against a storm door. “So…what of it?” I’d say to myself in the reflective glass as I shrugged my shoulders. “Look on the bright side, you don’t have to shower after the game.” Efficiency churned my happiness. It made me whole when self-confidence was lacking. I searched for another door…a window…anything, and somewhere along the line I also turned to fashion to play upon my creative nature.  Again, only a doggie-door  Black studded double-wrap belts and jelly bracelets graced the hallways, as did blue eyeshadow and spiral perms. Oh why oh why was life so cruel? But, did I give up? Uh…I should have, but no. I latched that doggie door tightly, and like the Energizer Bunny I kept clanging those cymbals to my own beat.

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College brought a whole new list of woes and doubts. I was pitted against brighter and faster, and became quite familiar with the term, “Average Joe.” Although my interpretation left those in my path perplexed…”Hey, average is 50% better than ‘just plain dumb’. Relish in your accomplishments.” I’d throw my head back and let out a girly-laugh. Often I would wish I was blonde. At parties I’d enjoy the raucous fun and close camaraderie, but was never really interested in heavy drinking or inhaling organics. Yes, I was free with my emotions, but quite cautious with my brain cells. After all, there were only so many to lose. You’d think I’d have found a solution to my lack of a 100-watt-up-top, but instead my inability to comprehend landed me searching for goals and principles…and the little guy in green and gold at the end of the rainbow. Hey, a buck for a scratch could have landed me within the upper crowd. Could have, but it didn’t.

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15 years later I still question why life turned out the way it has. Doesn’t everyone? And every day I am thankful. Thankful that I never had the added stress of being the best and staying on top, but more grateful that I learned about optimism early on. There’s something to be said about living life to its fullest. No matter what kind of life it is. And for what it’s worth, “living life to its fullest” doesn’t always mean stretching and striving for the unobtainable, but knowing what you’re capable of…and believing in it.

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Oh, by the way…Happy Monday!

Posted by Lanie - Girl With A Pen under Motivated Mondays | 1 Comment »

Ever have one of those clocks that didn’t have a snooze button? It would go off, you’d slam it against the wall and then have to explain how your clock “malfunctioned”. (Expressed with finger quotes as you explained to co-workers of course). How did our parents ever survive without the “big bump on the top of the clock”? I mean, they walked miles in the hail and snow, they only got paid $27 a week…but not having a snooze button? Torture at its cruelest!

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Mondays are the days when we love our snooze button the most. Except for those that have to work Saturdays. Or those who have the night shift on the weekend. Ok, so maybe Mondays aren’t so bad when you put it that way.

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Kids look at Mondays so differently than adults do. My daughter rubbed her eyes as day broke today, sat up in bed and said, “Mommy, I love Mondays.” She then proceeded to tell me how she was going to wear her “Monday panties”. (You know, the ones kids have with the days of the week on them. Who thought of this insane gimmick? Whenever it’s a certain day of the week, it never fails that the day you’re looking for is in the dirty clothes!) Maybe I’d like Mondays better if I had a pair of Monday panties… Of course my daughter then began to cry because she couldn’t find her “Monday panties”. Maybe this is why people grow up not liking Mondays. The “Monday panties” could never be found. It’s always the Mother’s fault. Darn! Society IS right!

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I think if adults could look at Mondays differently, things would be different. Of course if corporations would grant the “come into work at 11:00am” on Mondays, there might be less grumbling from the masses. Seriously…Why do Fridays get all the fun? After all, it’s always “Casual Friday”… Fred, in accounting, gets to Hang 10 in his red and yellow (aka…ugly) Hawaiian shirt while reimbursing Tisha in her 80’s spandex. Hopefully all takes place out of the fax room. Ever notice how “Casual Friday” is begging for a visit from Stacy London and Clinton Kelly? Just sayin…

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So, snooze hitters of the world…unite! For today you have the freedom to pound and slam as you never have before. Whether you’re a conservative Republican on the heels of McCain, or a “change seeker” (not pennies mind you) holding a free bumper sticker and screaming “Obama” at the top of your lungs, you have the choice. You, with that stuff that Mama called “sleep” in your eyes. You, with drool on your pillow and a left over migraine from red hot buffalo wings at the church get-to-gether. YOU have the choice! Rejoice!

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*MEDICAL ADVISEMENT - After rejoicing and hitting the “modern marvel” sixteen million times, find those dirty “Monday Panties”, get dressed and hurry your coffee-stained trousers to the office before you are LATE!!!!

 

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(Welcome to another Monday.)

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The author of this blog does not take responsibility for writing and posting past the time that everyone is actually completed with the work day. Apparently her snooze button (and “Monday Panties”) were no where to be found.

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