Summer school is done for and though we have playschool (and by we I mean I drop the girls off at nine and praise the heavesn until I pick them up at 12) the end of school means the end of our routines. Which means I once again love Mondays. I know this is in utter contrast to the TGIF mentality of society. But I figure those people aren’t married with kids. Yeah I get it, from you working drudges. But I am always astonished other SAHPs bemoan the end of the weekend. Am I really the only one who kind of looks forward to Mondays?
Every Monday, I feel a bit relieved when my husband walks out the door. Those hours between eight thirty and five are “my time”. Everything is just a bit easier and there is no judgment. No one to make fun of my singing and Elaine dancing to horrid pop music. No one to chide me when I let the girls watch another hour of television. No one to see that I let the girls have a bowl of cookies just so I could get five minutes to check my email. I can keep myself on schedule or keep everyone in pajamas until four.
Don’t get me wrong, my husband is great with the kids. In fact even using that phrase seems wrong, like he is so great with them in the hour I run to the store. He truly is, in every sense, a coparent. But there is a certain tolerance that comes from being around them 24/7 that can’t be duplicated. The crying and whining doesn’t affect me the way it does him. I know just from J’s ruffled brow that while the orange shoes may have be the favorite yesterday today it would mean torture by screaming if you even suggested them. There are a million little nuances the primary parent picks up and my husband is missing out on all of them.
So I put up with the utter disbelief at how horrid their behavior is and the “how long until bedtime” whines. As long as he puts up with my slovenly ways and that sometimes I walk into our room and shut the door the second he gets home.
And as long as he leaves on time in the morning.