Monday mornings

It seems the hallmark of a relaxing weekend around here is a disastrous house. No matter where I walk this morning, I seem to be ankle deep in toys, pillows, art supplies, etc. So, like the industrious wife and mother that I am, I have decided to blog about this phenomenon instead of doing something about it. That will come after I get dressed.

It never ceases to amaze me how the weekend throws off the daily routine. I tend to blame Dn. John for this, since when he is home, I never feel like doing anything--cooking, cleaning, you name it. Now, I realize that my own inherent laziness is most likely to blame, and that I am just using him as a scapegoat. However, the fact remains that the house is--99% of the time--completely trashed by Sunday evening, and none of us have eaten anything of substance for 48 hours, unless someone else brought vegetables to coffee hour.

This then feeds into the typical Monday morning madness...I clean like a crazy person, and then, these days at least, collapse into a heap of uselessness around 1 pm because I'm exhausted. So, the house will most likely be clean by the time my husband gets home, but the jury is still out on whether or not he gets dinner tonight.