I don't like Mondays (but I don't want to shoot the whole day down or anything...

For the record, I have no idea why the print is gi-normous and/or underlined this morning! I swear I didn't do it on purpose and have tried for 20 minutes to fix this-I give up! So all of you fans of large print books and billboards this post is for you :)

Another weekend has come and gone without me doing anything even remotely constructive. Unless you count finding the lost remote control (I guess I don’t have to declare it a total loss). I wish you could have seen the well crafted ‘To Do’ list complete with numerical notations indicating the highest to lowest priority. As of this morning, not a single thing can be checked off. So now it’s Monday and my driveway still looks like the beginning of Sanford and Son.

I will admit that in many ways, I may be a bit of a hothouse flower. It’s possible that my sensibilities are too fragile and I just need to suck it up. But I really struggle to have a good attitude about the week when I am starting out already in the weeds.

I do this to myself every weekend. All week long I think like a domestic survivalist. Monday through Thursday I function by considering the answer to the just a few questions; does it contribute to our basic existence? Can we eat it, drink it, sleep in it, wear it or use it to fend off interlopers? No? Then, I’ll think about it this weekend. Meanwhile, like some kind of sado-masochist, I spend a whole Wednesday evening making my husband watch that A & E show Hoarders with me so I can shout things like “Oh my God, 2 years and we’ll totally be them!” Or reassure myself with “Okay, at least we have never resorted to using our kitchen sink as a toilet…”

While recognizing that my house isn’t yet pathological, I remain pretty self conscious. So much so that I avoid letting anyone inside. I have even caught myself attempting to block others’ view into my house with my body. Yeah, it looks as weird as you imagine it. I’m pretty sure my next door neighbor thinks I’m making crystal meth. Even my kids have gotten in on the neuroses. My uncle came over to bring me a birthday gift and according to my uncle, the kids intercepted him as he approached the porch, shouting “Mom is napping, just give it to us and we’ll give it to her later. Thanks for stopping by!” I wasn’t napping. I have read this is one of those things that the poor enabling kids of alcoholics do. But since I am lucky if I manage to have a beer once a week, I’m pretty sure I’m not an alcoholic. If my kids are enablers, what are they enabling? I’ve wracked my brain on this one and I can really only come to one conclusion. They are enabling my immaturity. How long can my home look like a frat house before I step up to the plate? A long time apparently. Because while I can be counted on to make a heck of a ‘To Do’ list on Fridays, come Saturday and Sunday the siren song of Beatles Rock Band or hanging out with friends will prove too strong, leaving the ritual of Monday morning malaise well intact.

So I have decided the first thing I am going to put on my ‘To Do’ list this Friday is having the new doorbell installed to play the Sanford and Son theme. That way if it is the only thing we get done over the weekend, at least people will know what their getting when they show up at my house!

-M