I work a measly 10 hours a week, 5 on Monday, 5 on Wednesday. I don't work because my family needs my income, I work because my family needs my sanity.
Those 10 hours are precious to me. I get to sit at my desk and listen to music that isn't of the Sesame Street variety, I get to watch piles of paper dwindle away...a measurable visual that I have accomplished something that day. I get to have adult conversations and a lunch break that only requires I feed myself.
So, when Sunday night came along and my cousin reminded me that Monday was a holiday 'yay!', my stomach dropped. With Owen in the midst of busy season, holidays don't exist for him nor do weekends, which means they really don't exist for me (power to single parents everywhere, I just don't understand how it's possible). I texted my boss asking her if I could please work on Monday. I was not above begging.
I mean, I don't need to celebrate the presidents. What about the presidents are we celebrating exactly? And how? I do not know. Therefore, I should be obligated to go to work. Please. For the love. An unexpected 6 days off just seems so cruel and unusual.
Monday morning arrived, as did Jace in my room. I turned on the iPad for him and hid under the covers because I just couldn't do it. The shower that feels like I'm at a rave because he is turning the lights on and off...on and off. And the fan. On and off. Launching toilet paper rolls into the shower, squealing 'HI MOMMY!!'
The mess. The mess that looks like I never cleaned up. I did, I swear! That spilled milk and dried cereal is new spilled milk and dried cereal! I cleaned up the old stuff, this is a fresh mess, but you wouldn't know because it's worse than before! The Legos were once put away, the laundry was once done, the dishes were stacked neatly, the floor was swept--it was actually clean. But, no one would ever know because it was all undone within 10 minutes of its existence. My efforts have been thwarted. There is nothing measurable about the work I do here because it usually ends up worse than when the day first began.
Doing the dishes takes extra long now because Jace loves to close the dishwasher after each dish that goes in. So, every time I bend down to put in a new dish, I have to reopen the dishwasher and pull out the rack. For every. Single. Item.
And there's the countless hours of trying to keep a toddler entertained All. Day. Long. For 6 days in a row? Cruel and unusual. There's only so many times I can shoot hoops, do puzzles, sing the ABC's, build a tower, read Curious George.
My hero, Melissa, had to come save me yesterday afternoon as I peeled myself off of the fetal position on the couch and hightailed it to the grocery store sans toddler. I walked around, stopping to admire and stare at all the beauty that resides in the aisles of Safeway--I may as well have been at the Louvre in Paris.
I blame the Presidents and believe I deserve an apology. How dare they demand we take a whole day off to celebrate them?
I get to go to work tomorrow. All will soon be well with my soul.
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