I spent most of yesterday on grocery shopping and a doctor’s appointment. (Blood pressure still isn’t quite normal – a fact that may have been exacerbated by the fact that I was told to strip down from the waist down and wait for the doctor mere seconds before Adrienne decided she needed to EAT RIGHT NOW. Imagine feeding a not-so-tiny infant while half-naked with no arm or back support. And then just try to keep your blood pressure down. JUST TRY IT.)

I spent most of Monday . . . wait, what DID I do on Monday? Oh yes, it was a snow day so I DON’T KNOW. I think I did a little work and a lot of baby-holding while Annalyn enjoyed hours upon hours of Nick Jr.

Clearly I’m super productive these days.

You might notice I’m writing a post about Mondays on Wednesday. And if you’re incredibly observant (or obsessed, which, WEIRD), you might notice this is going live much later than my posts normally do.

That’s because Mondays – and mornings (and evenings and afternoons and Thursdays and EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY) – don’t always cooperate.

In my [make-believe] ideal world, I’d start every week with a clean kitchen, an updated to-do list and every piece of laundry clean and put away. I’d be well-rested and ready to take on the world – or at least the week. My pantry would be stocked, the menu would be planned and all meetings would be on the calendar. The checkbook would be balanced, the DVR would be cleared, the inbox would be empty.

This is the Monday I dream of. But it’s not the Monday I meet. Ever.

I just got a reminder email about a webinar I signed up for a couple weeks ago. My stomach is growling despite the stress-snacking I’ve done this morning. The emails and to-dos keep rolling in, and I’m starting to hate my inbox and that tiny envelope notification that keeps staring at me. And I just want someone to tell me that I’m going to get the hang of this, that it’s going to be okay.

It is. I know that. To repeat the mantra I’ve clung to since college: What needs to get done will get done. It will. I think. No, I know it.

If our house isn’t perfectly decluttered and cleaned (AGAIN) when the real estate photographer comes on Monday, our house will still get listed for sale (AGAIN). If another day – or week – goes by without me finishing our taxes, it’s not the end of the world. If I decide not to spend a couple of my precious hours while the baby’s at the babysitter at the kindergartener’s Dr. Seuss Day party, I’m still a good mom. And as long as I keep moving forward and meeting the most urgent of deadlines, the team I work with will give me grace for at least another day or two.

Sometimes Mondays don’t cooperate.

We start the day, the week arguing over undershirts and matching socks and no, you cannot have a cupcake for breakfast.

We get busy on Sunday and step over the pile of laundry on the way to bed instead of folding it. {Happy Monday! You have laundry.}

We stay up too late catching up on the DVR-ed shows we love and say goodbye to morning workout and quiet time intentions.

We forget that it’s trash day.

We get caught in traffic and get caught walking in late.

Our shirts aren’t ironed . . . or clean.

There’s nothing to send – or take – for lunch.

It’s 10:00 am, and we just want a nap. Or a do-over.

Sometimes Mondays just won’t cooperate.

But the thing about Mondays is that they just come once a week.

Whew.

Wait. Do you think that means you only have one chance to get it right, to start the week well, to DO IT ALL PERFECTLY?

I don’t think that’s true. I think facing Mondays only every seven days means we have six more days – or 23 more hours, or 364 more days, or 11 more months – to try again. Not to STRIVE toward perfection, because come on. No, we have six more days to accept grace – from our family, from our co-workers, from our God.

We take the grace that’s offered, the forgiveness for missed deadlines and lame lunches and takeout dinner and wrinkled laundry and clumsy presentations. We accept the acceptance that we can’t do it all, that we’re not perfect. We take a hard look in the figurative mirror, see our real selves – ourselves that stumble on Monday but rally on Tuesday, and we nod our heads. Yes, yes, this is who we are, this is where we are. And this is okay.

Maybe you’re in a rough season like I am? One where Mondays get the best of you Every Single Week? If you are, can I offer you the same encouragement I’m giving myself?

It’s going to be okay.
It won’t always be like this.
Someday you WILL master the Mondays. Maybe not every one, but one, at least.
Until then, just hang in there.
Nobody is judging you when your Monday doesn’t cooperate.

Monday is a real jerk, honestly, trying its hardest to beat us down and keep us there for another week. But we can do it. We can rally on Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Or Wednesday afternoon after a nap and a cupcake we hid from the others.

Sometimes Mondays don’t cooperate. But we don’t have to let it ruin our whole week. Take it from me. You really can start over and try it again – no matter what day or hour it is.

*************

So. I didn’t technically set the timer for a free write and let the thoughts flow – but pretty close. I hope you don’t mind a little stream of consciousness mixed with an honest look at my “real” right now and some encouragement for both of us. While my [make-believe] ideal writing life would include hours of introspection, brainstorming, focus, edits and sharing – this is what we get for now. I know that’s true, but hitting publish on this one – without “fixing” it makes me shaky nervous. Thanks for sticking around anyway.

{Dishes photo by me. Yep, those are my dirty dishes. Laundry photo by emilysnuffer.}

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