Thank god its Monday – TGIM! I so look forward to the beginning of the weekdays, the regular working days, that its almost criminal. My kids refuse to look at my glowing face on the Monday mornings when they are all groggy and could do with a few more minutes of the shut-eye. And there is the mother sounding so chirpy and happy about it being a bright morning and with hopes of it transforming into a great day! I know gives you a sense of déjà vu, doesn’t it?
Well after a back breaking and hectic weekend, which just happened to zip past in the most breathless pace, I’m sure I deserve a peaceful, Zen-like time to myself. Of course, it can’t be that peaceful what with the occasional interruptions from the raucous ringing of the doorbell. The maid, dhobi, maali, pav-wala, each has to make their presence felt. And I can’t ignore them, they are after all the life support of every housewife. All jobs done. Now to settle down with Sunday Hindu newspaper and a cup of hot green tea with lemon and honey. Perfect! But where the hell is the newspaper? I spent some time looking for it in all the regular locations and then it struck me…my husband was busy clearing the basket with all the old newspapers; and I’m sure having finished reading it, he had kept the said newspaper away too. There goes phut the bubble of paradise. Now I know why I’m so stressed out on Sundays.
Sundays are cleaning days in the house, a ritual religiously followed by my husband. Like a true-blue Virgo, cleaning and organizing are the air he breathes, much to the discomfort of all the other regular-born family members. Even I am a very organized person and like to keep my things in their place. But I’m ok if I find my pen stand on the right-hand side of the desk instead on the usual left side, or if the books are stacked up on the study table instead of the bookshelf next to it. And the children, those poor disorganized angels who derive absolute joy on finding anything in the first go in their room, their weekend turns to nightmare at the very thought. He’s a man possessed when he’s getting them to clean the room.
So, going back to the reason why I’m so stressed out during the weekends is because I play the negotiator, the peacemaker, the arbitrator – call me anything but it all means the same. I am the one who gets caught in the crossfire between the two warring sides. Neither side is ready to compromise on their standards. The father wants a spic-and-span “cabin cupboard” (a terminology used often in my house by my ex-Navy husband!) and the children want things to be “arranged” in such a manner that they can locate it in future without shouting out to the mother for emergency assistance. After an hour or so of shouting, arguing and angry outbursts, this exercise finally gets washed away with crying, howling and sobbing by the girls. Thus, ends the weekly exercise and then I play the pacifier. Sometimes I feel like an acrobat, balancing my sanity and my household.
After this narrative, I’m sure you agree why the Monday mornings are most sought after. Now for that cup of hot tea!