Mondays

Just another manic Monday.

I'll tell you why I don't like Mondays.

And maybe come up with something original to say as well.

Although, don't hold your breath.

Last Monday was another Series of Unfortunate Events.

It doesn't help that we are listening to the book on audiotape during our travels in the car. Even if it is narrated by Tim Curry. Who we all love.

It also doesn't help that we only listen to Tim when all three older boys are in the car. Because we are all in it together often enough to be halfway through the book in three weeks. When the twins are in the car alone we listen to Spanish. They can introduce themselves, tell you how old they are AND their likes and dislikes. As long as they like icecream, strawberries, pizza and coka-cola. But then again, who doesn't? And it's only been three weeks. In the car. Without Andrew.

If Ian is in the car – which is altogether too often, poor dear – and awake – we usually have to preempt our regularly scheduled program for Elmo.

He also demands that we sing along.

All of us.

And he knows if your heart isn't in it.

There is a CD for Ryan. Or 97.3. And yes, she can tell if it isn't 97.3. It's magic.

And then I have a meditation CD for the times I am in there alone.

Yellow. It is the colour of self-fulfillment. And blah blah blah as my mind drifts elsewhere. But I like to think I am absorbing the wisdom subconsciously. And the music is nice.

I generally do keep my eyes open though.

When I can.

A lot of the reason we have so much time to self-educate ourselves in the car is because of Mondays.

You've already seen the schedule. On a good day.

Two weeks ago (I wrote this early March) Ian was vomitting. In a bucket. Helped by 7 year old twins while I raced to get Ryan to belly dance at the same time that Andrew needs to be picked up from hip-hop.

Really. I AM going to figure out how to be in two places at once. Something about a train and going fast enough around the world at the speed of light. But then the mass and something about impossibility.

How does Einstein get to weigh in on my mass and theoretical impossibility?

Last Monday I had it all sorted.

Until Andrew missed his ride from school to dance and I had to go back and get him. Which meant that the half hour I saved not having to go from the twins' school to his school and then to dance turned into one trip with the twins and another trip back to get Andrew. That added an hour of meditation. Or would have if Ian wasn't also forced to come with me.

Elmo's World? Welcome to mine!

Andrew missed his friend at the H block handball courts because he inadvertently spilled water all over himself by not screwing the lid of his water bottle on properly. Then, when the bell rang, he decided to go and clean himself up in the bathroom instead of make his appointment.

Because his uniform – that he would be changing out of twenty minutes later for dance – was wet.

With water.

On a 30 C (90F) day.

And yes, this is the gifted and talented one.

I would cry if I didn't keep telling myself it makes great fodder for my writing.