Tuesdays. . .

It's not unusual to hate Mondays.  The beginning of the work week.  The end of the weekend.  Totally understandable.  But, honestly, Mondays don't bother me, much.

Tuesdays, on the other hand, have my undying hatred.

Mainly because at best, they're the blah day.  Monday, I feel hopeful at the prospect of another week, another opportunity to get things right.  Wednesdays are the halfway point.  Thursday is so near to the weekend that you can almost taste it, and I don't even have to explain the appeal of a Friday.

Tuesday, however, is just there, taunting me.  The weekend is still but a distant dream, but I have usually lost the motivation of Monday.  So, it just hangs there.  Being Tuesday.  Wretched.  I abhor it.

Which is probably the reason that Tuesday has decided to seek revenge.  Perhaps it's psychological - the way expecting bad things tends to bring them about.  Or maybe Tuesday is simply my arch-nemesis.  I prefer the latter explanation.  Let me give you an example as to why I think this:

Yesterday was Tuesday.  It was also a simply awful day, for a million tiny reasons, each one seemingly innocuous on its own.  But combined?  They made for a rather hellish day.*

It started when my alarm went off, a full 40 minutes before Miles usually gets up.  Usually, this gives me enough time to snooze once or twice, then come downstairs and have a nice cup of coffee before I launch into my day.  Tuesday, however, had other plans.  When I pushed the snooze button for the first time, relishing the idea of nine more minutes of blissful slumber before I had to drag my ass out of bed, I thought for a moment that I hadn't hit the right button.  Several seconds later, my sleep-ridden brain finally figured out that those noises?  Weren't coming from the alarm, but from the next room, where Miles was already wide awake and playing.  Patrick got up, too, and helped, so I could at least brush my teeth, and by the time I got out of the bathroom, the two of them were already downstairs.  I drank my morning coffee in between helping find Miles some breakfast and re-locating the remote.**

Our normal morning routine was planned to be somewhat different, anyway, since Miles had an appointment with the dermatologist at 9:00 am.^  So, just as Miles' second-favorite show was coming on, I had to whisk him upstairs to get him ready to go.  Unfortunately, that meant that he spent the entire time fighting me in an effort to get back downstairs to find Boo.  Blargh.  I managed to dress myself and him, brush his teeth, and brush his and my hair in record time.  And, like the Bad Mommy I am, I parked him in front of the end of Boo  so I could get my shoes on and get the diaper bag packed.

Then, we had the dermatologist appointment from hell.  More about that tomorrow.

Afterward, I put Miles in the van, where he promptly fell asleep, and I used that opportunity to get his prescriptions filled.  I dropped them off, then went to get a chai from Starbucks, since I have a gift card.  The chai?  Which was supposed to be a delectable treat?  Tasted like butt.  And when I got back to the pharmacy, there was some sort of problem that prevented me from being able to pick up the prescriptions right away.  So, I drove home, anxious to sit in the van in the driveway, just breathing for five minutes.

And that's when Miles woke up.

We went inside, to find that the dog had, once again, escaped his kennel while we were gone, and had strewn dirty laundry all over the house.  For the second time this week.  Only this time?  He decided to tear some of it to shreds.  Just for giggles apparently.  I cleaned it up, got Miles some lunch, and then fell into my chair in a heap.  The clock read 11:34 am.

Tuesday is a bitch.

*Okay, okay.  I am being dramatic.  What else is new?

**No way can this mommy face a Tuesday without a cup of coffee.  If that means television first thing, so be it.

^Right during Sesame Street.  That was some bad planning. :)