MyUndays

"Every other day, every other day,
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes
You can find me cryin' all of the time"
- The Mamas and The Papas

What is it about the power of Mondays, now commonly referred to as MyUndays? Why is block number two on the calendar's row so powerful? Why does the inaugural day of the standard work week create a roller coaster ride of emotions?

This morning I woke up just fine, only two-too-many smacks on the snooze bar. Get up, get ready real-quick and get the kids out the door. Too easy. (The DixieVixen is heading out of town on business today, so I endeavor to get this done alone. Be careful not to bite off more than you can chew.) Day starts fine.

The K-Princess and E-Fairy were semi-cooperative getting out of bed and ready for school. I adjourned to the shower upon thinking my lovely girls would complete the task of readying themselves for school. (A limited amount of self-sufficiency can be a terrible thing to rely upon.) My "flight of the bumble bee" shower complete, I go check on their progress. I see the E-Fairy first. Argh. Unkempt. Disheveled. Hair in dire need of brush one of two. The bus comes in 5 minutes. Yippee! The K-Princess comes trotting down the hall, as proud as can be. I cannot believe what I see, and literally laugh out loud, when the "responsible" one appears to me with more schrunchies on her arms than a Bananarama concert, but her hair brushed......sort of. Day going south early; slowly, but gently losing altitude. At least it's entertaining.

Flying around there like Michael Keaton, I believe that I can finish getting these two ready to get down to the corner in less than five minutes. Realistic expectations, Psuedo, realistic expectations. Brush 1 prepares their delicate hair for the ponytail and prevents "daddy-abuse" and brush 2 makes for finely brushed, healthy-looking hair. (Any girl who's had a man put their hair in a ponytail knows the deal.) But the PseudoDaddy has hair going into ponytails like parachutes being rigged for Normandy. Tearing off down the hallway I get their bookbags out. While I am frantically trying to get them out the door and quantum leaped to a bus that has already gone; I cannot understand why they haven't gotten their coats on already.

"What's the problem ladies?"

"We're trying daddy, but we can't get our coats down!"

Aaahhh....they aren't quite 4 feet tall and the coats are hanging off of a rack on the top of the door. (Give the E-Fairy an "A" for effort though because she was hanging off of her coat and by darn, she and gravity were going to win that battle.) Of course, by the time I get the basketball clothes in one book bag and snack money in another and shoo them out the door, I'm just kidding myself by thinking they can still make the bus.

Then, I said to myself: "self, go see if the bus has already come". Of course, we're officially migrating south now because the bus is gone and I have to give them a ride. Deep six. In the can. Down the tubes.

Of course, I'm getting one very distinct look from them: "piss poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine, daddy"....

Now, on to the ManChild. Getting this gargantuanly large child-wonder to dress himself is a complete exercise in futility! However, today he is feeling me. We're there. In the zone. Clicking. (Or whatever euphemism you want to interject to underscore a 4 year old bailing me out.) He got dressed! You think Mike Eruzione pulled off a miracle? So, away we go. Right? Wrong.

The Urinator and Mama Dog are going nuts at the back door. All they want is some food and water. Damn demanding animals! So, to further hamper my departure I get the tribe to get in the car so I can feed and water the beasts. Getting better all the time...

Finally, off we go. Drop the girls off at their school and then the ManChild safely invades his daycare like the Third Reich descending on Paris. Aha! Things are looking up! Of course, I still have to go to the source of professional disappointment, boredom, inefficiency and malaise. And I'm only 30 minutes late. Thank heavens for flex hours...

At least I didn't have a tire blow out on my way to work today. That was last MyUnday...

Maybe I can get my wife to cancel her trip? PLEASE DON'T GO! MY SANITY MAY DEPEND ON IT!

There isn't even a good football game on tonight. Three days of peace, love and happiness. Uh huh. A regular old Dadstock. Any takers on the over-under for the number of times I beg my wife to come home early?

If you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at? Look on the bright side. It's only Monday...