There are few things more disheartening than walking around all day Wednesday thinking it is Thursday. Really. Thursdays are the happiest day of my week. My lovely Friday Eve, the day before Riley comes home from work an hour early and the weekend begins. Once my week gets to Thursday I know everything will be alright. And this week I was positive Thursday was here and ready to save this damsel in distress.
The day went something like this: When Margaret cried I thought, "I can do this for one more day, because tomorrow is Friday." The house was
monumentally a little messy? "No problem, Riley will help me clean it after work tomorrow (Friday!) and then we will sleep in on Saturday." Completely out of basics like butter, fresh vegetables and Guittard dark chocolate chips? (basics, I tell you) "No worries. Tomorrow is Friday which is one day closer to pay day. Butter, here I come!" And then. And then around four o'clock I realized it was Wednesday. Middle of the week one day further from my chocolate chips Wednesday. The realization slammed me back to earth. When Margaret cried I thought, "I can't do this anymore. My goodness it is only Wednesday." The house was a mess, a disaster, a doll strewn war zone. "Seriously, we should just torch this place and start over, because it is only Wednesday." Completely out of the necessities? "Great. We are going to starve. And I need chocolate. Doesn't the world know what day it is? I can't live through Wednesday without chocolate!"
I was wrong of course. I can live through Wednesday without chocolate. But is a slow, painful kind of living and I don't recommend it.
Any meal that includes bacon, cheese and chile will make Riley smile. This week it was a quesadilla filled with chicken, bacon, caramelized onions, green chile and cheddar. I love to watch that man enjoy a meal I have prepared. It doesn't happen often enough. Of course, the poor husband is now looking at a month of eating variations on the bacon, cheese and chile theme. Why fix it if it ain't broken?
And finally, Leaving pieces of your childhood behind can be painful. Even for a three year old. Perhaps, especially for a three year old. Zuzu has been pacifier free for about six weeks now. Wednesday night (Damn you, Wednesdays!) she found an old pacifier beneath her bed.
MOMMY! I FOUND A PACI UNDER THE BED! IT IS WAITING FOR ME! CAN YOU GET IT? PACIS ARE FOR BIG GIRLS AT BED TIME!
Oh, Sugar. Pacifiers are just for babies. You aren't a baby. Here, let's throw that one away. You want to throw it away like a big girl? Show me how big you are.
Ummm, Mommy. I am not a big girl. I am little. Can little girls have pacis in bed? I think so.
No, I am sorry sweetie. Even little girls don't have pacis in their bed.
But mommy, And here she pointed to Viola's mouth full of pacifier, I have a short, little mouth just like Viola. See?
She squeezed her lips together to show me just how short and little her mouth is. Her eyes were so wide. And I almost gave in, because her mouth really is so tiny and little girls become big girls too quickly. And my heavens, what could it really hurt anyways? But instead I throw the pacifier away for her and when she cried I sang her tears quiet.
I really hate Wednesdays.
Have a fabulous Wednesday free weekend.