I love Mondays. That’s kind of un-American, isn’t it? Like saying I don’t much like fireworks–also true. But back to Mondays. We’re all supposed to prefer weekends to weekdays because weekends are the times dedicated to fun fun fun. You know–long hillside hikes, and parties, a trip to the art museum, and parties, a day at Disneyland, and parties. But in the midst of this sybaritic whirl, chances are you neglect to wash the dishes or pick up the kids’ toys, so that by Monday all the hampers are overflowing with damp towels and your kitchen looks more like a pigpen than an ad for House and Garden.
And then it’s Monday morning, and the kids are back in school, and some people in the house go back to work. Okay, so maybe everyone goes to an office or classroom, but if you’re lucky enough to be at home, it’s time to roll up your sleeves. I look around with enthusiasm. Could be it’s my New England background, but I like a genuine challenge more than just swiping at almost-clean counters and straightening a pile of magazines. Plunging into a disaster area, mop in hand, is infinitely more satisfying.
Here’s another reason Mondays appeal to me: When the sheets and towels are piled nose high on the washing machine, I don’t have to think twice about my next step. Load it up, put in the soap and turn the dials. Swish swish go the suds and I smile watching them rotate in the little glass window. It’s so satisfactory to know you’re doing something utterly necessary.
Hustling through household tasks is a breeze compared to trying to decide if the reason your son is bullied at school has to do with his size or his outfits. And should he be seeing a counselor? Or fretting because your new camellia bushes aren’t thriving. Ditto trying to decide on a humane way to keep the squirrels from eating the plums on your tree. There’s also the pressing question of how much money you can afford to send to your favorite political candidate to ensure their election in November or what answer to give the neighbor who wants you to take over the Neighborhood Watch.
Some of us get to stay home on a Monday morning, because we are supposed to be writing something. Maybe it’s an article promised to a magazine, maybe it’s starting a story or a memoir. Any of the aforementioned cleaning tasks not only are a legitimate use of your time, they are so much less frustrating than staring at a blank computer screen, blinking as you scour your mind for a good idea. Compared to that, cleaning up a messy room makes you feel good about yourself. And why shouldn’t it? Who can spend time thinking up words for a blog, when nobody in the house has clean underpants?
Now the laundry is done, and in a frenzy of avoidance, I call the man who promises to come and repair the furnace, the company who will pick up my discard items and an older friend who needs a ride to the library. I’ve crossed off all the items on my To-Do list, so now what? I sit down at my computer, and instantly 574 black words march smartly across the screen. I gasp with delight. Not only are there stacks of sweet smelling clothes in every room, I got to tell the world how much I love Mondays.