Hello Thursday! Meet my blog group, comprised of a fantastic group of ladies who will dazzle you with insight on various topics. After reading my post, check out their blogs as well. Just click on:
Froggie (Tracey): One frog’s distinct voice on the world around her.
Merry Land Girl (Melissa): Tales of a suburban mom who likes to talk about pop culture, books, Judaism, family, friendship and anything else that comes to mind.
Darwin Shrugged (Denise): Civilized Observations in an Uncivilized World
For today, I dug into my own weekly angst. What is your favorite day of the week, and your least favorite day of the week?
I should go a bit easier on the title of this post. Maybe “hate” is a strong word. It’s not that I hate Thursdays. I just dread Thursdays. Every Thursday, I feel like a marathon runner, and trust me. I know what it’s like to run marathons. There’s always something going on. Even when I try to completely clear my schedule, stuff crops in. Doctors appointments. Play dates. Errands that need to be taken care of. I know, none of this sounds crucial or complicated. It’s fine and dandy until the afternoon kicks in. That’s when the fit really hits the shan, if you catch my meaning.
My 8-year old has karate every Thursday evening. I’m a parent helper. I take care of the money, the registrations, the ordering of supplies. It’s worth it. My son gets to attend his karate class free of charge due to my volunteer work, but Thursday afternoons are chaotic and hectic. Today is the perfect example. My son has a commitment after school (he’s part of KIND club, a group of volunteers that teach children about animals). KIND club meets the first Thursday of every month. That’s this Thursday. It ends at 4:30pm, but let’s be realistic. KIND club never ends on time, which means we’ll make a mad dash from school to home, where I’ll feed both my boys an early, early dinner so they’ll have something in their bellies, because we need to leave the house at 5:00pm. I report for my parent helper duties at 5:30pm. I feel like the proverbial chicken with her head cut off, and it doesn’t matter what I do to lessen the blow. I’ve got stew in the crockpot even as I type this. Dinner is a snap, but it won’t matter. The boys will eat slowly, the 8-year old will grumble and complain when I tell him for the 15th time to PUT ON HIS UNIFORM. The little guy will constantly tell me how he wants to go bye-bye yet wiggle and squirm while I’m trying to get him ready. I never pick up after the three of us, not on Thursday afternoons. My poor husband will come home to a kitchen mess, but it comes with the territory on a Thursday.
Speaking of my poor husband… he has to leave work early, and he meets us at the school where the karate classes are held. I pack him dinner, so he’ll at least have something to eat. It’s probably cold when he finally gets around to eating it. I wish it were different, but I need his assistance. I couldn’t man the table, take payments and help parents out with the preschooler running around like a mad man. So, husband steps in and keeps an eye on the little guy, while the 8-year old attends class. I barely talk to or acknowledge my boys during this time. I’m sequestered behind the table, slammed up against garbage and recycle bins, and there are always questions.
“How much are uniforms?”
“Can I order a fan?”
“I ordered a fan. Has it come in yet?”
“Do I have to pay for the make-up class?”
“What size uniform will my kid need?”
It’s a whirlwind.
Husband will take the boys home once class is over, which is at 7:30pm, but my night doesn’t end there. I give hugs and kisses, bid them farewell, and I stay behind at the school, taking care of the rest of the parents and kids for the next two classes. There are lulls here and there, but by this time, I’m too exhausted to appreciate it. A parent will take pity on me and we’ll have a conversation. They sense my tiredness and want to do their part. I reconcile all the payments, the sign in sheets, etc. to ensure the money matches up. Sometimes I’ll do this for other schools the sensai works at, if he asks me to. After breaking everything down and putting things away as neatly as I can, I can finally leave the school. The earliest I’ve ever left is 9:15pm. Usually, it’s closer to 9:30pm.
When I get home, I don’t do a thing. The boys are in bed, and my husband is usually playing an online game with one of his buddies. I just curl up on the couch and sigh a few million times. Often, I’ll have what I’ve affectionately coined “second dinner”, because I haven’t eaten in close to 6 hours and I’m starving.
Friday always feels like my Saturday. Friday is the reprieve from Thursday, and I always feel so good when I wake up on a Friday morning. The chaos is over. I can relax, and I know I have a full 6 days before I have to gear up for another Thursday again. I’d have to say that Friday is rather amazing, and has become my favorite day of the week.
I know, it could be worse. I see it every Thursday, in the eyes of the parents who work full-time jobs and then feel the full brunt of the afternoon chaos. They are the ones who trudge in with children in tow, tired and drained but putting in the good fight to get their kids to a karate class on time. At least I get a reprieve earlier in the day since I don’t report to an office, although I’m not sure there’s much of a reprieve for me. I spent a good 30 minutes attempting to clean a horrific poopy diaper blow out earlier today, which had spread onto my little guy’s clothing and onto me. Did I forget to mention we weren’t at home? No, we were at a burger joint, and I had the foresight to bring one lone pull up with me, but nothing else. No wipes. No change of clothes. Oops. We had a few puzzled looks when he emerged from the bathroom, clad in his winter coat, winter hat, socks and shoes… but no shirt or pants. In 20 degree weather.
Anyway, I don’t think any of us are getting out of this parenting gig without bumps and bruises along the way. It’s what we do for our kids, and I appreciate that I’ve been given the opportunity to do something nice for my son. I get through each Thursday with a smile, because he’s worth it. Side note: My husband just sent me a text. Here’s what it said.
“Just for the record. I hate Thursdays.”
It’s your turn. What is your least favorite day of the week? What’s your favorite?