I have a beef with Wednesday.
Let me explain. And let's start at the very beginning.
Sunday is not a day of rest for me. The scriptures say: DAY OF REST but it's only a rest from the normal activities of our week. And I believe that's all we're asked to do. There is still much good to be done on the Sabbath but, oh dear, as of late, it's tiring.
See, Simon doesn't like the sit still. Almost ever. He started walking at 9 months and 2 days and hasn't much stopped moving since. So that alone makes church hard. And at the start of the year, the Elders' Quorum (men's organization, meeting the last hour of our 3 hour block of church) moved to the STAGE. Like, the big, high area at the back of the gym where babies can fall. So Simon just would always be with me. And his nap time is 10:30, 11 latest. Church is at 9:00. So, about midway through Sunday School, regardless of the snacks and diversions I have for him, he's done.'
Then let's add in that Ted was recently called to the Bishopric. ... I could detail the new Sunday challenges, but suffice it to say I fly solo from 6:30 AM until about 2PM. Then he comes home to get a bite to eat, nap, help make dinner, and he goes to work. Day of rest? ... No.
I'm not looking for sympathy. I love attending church. I especially love that my girls gladly attend their classes and are mostly really well behaved during sacrament meeting. I even sort of love that I get to admire my husband a few moments of each meeting as he sits on the stand. I love and revel in the insane blessings we receive from Ted's service and my service - for the small amount of effort we put forth and the great heavenly return we see. I love church. But, it's NOT restful.
What does this have to do with Wednesday? Oh gosh, I'm so off track. And tired.
Sunday. It's wild.
Monday is no better. Monday I resign myself to let life happen to me. But it is a wild rush. Great highlights and happy moments but a rush nonetheless. And a catch-up from Sunday.
Tuesday I'm barely home. It's just THAT day in my week. I could detail it but after my Sunday want, no one wants to hear me complain in a first-world-problem sort of way.
Then Wednesday comes. I need relief. I would love to sleep in. Take a long shower. Wake up to a totally clean house. Wake up to my husband next to me in bed. "No, honey, you sleep. I'll get Gwenna ready for school." That just isn't how it goes. And there's something about the building of the craziness of Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, that makes Wednesday... hard. It's my hard day. I know it sounds like Sunday is but Wednesday kind of gets crapped on. Everything that hasn't happened yet, has to happen by today. Forgot to do my kindergartner's valentines for her party Thursday? Better get it done Wednesday. Put off grocery shopping and now out of milk again? Wednesday it is. Have three slips for packages? Have to run to the post office. There are calls to be made, messages to be returned and probably people's stuff too (we ALWAYS end up with people's stuff at our house because they are generous and I'm forgetful)... whatever it is, it always gets pushed off until or schedule on Wednesday.
I totally love my weeks. I love going to Gwenna's class, the visiting I get to do with friends, the happiness Mer feels when she has preschool, playing outside on the swings with my kids, the daily cuddle time I have with Mer as she insists she must watch ONE SHOW (and I don't mind, I need a break too!), chasing Simon from one end of the house to the other, reading Gwenna's school books with her, throwing all three kids in the tub, brushing out freshly washed hair... so many regular tasks and amazing daily type things that I could not do without and am so grateful for. But oh, oh Wednesday. It is not my friend. It steals my patience, stresses me out, and makes me very grateful for 7:00 in a way no other day does. It makes me so glad for Thursday and Saturday. And maybe, just maybe, that's what Wednesday is for!