In the horrors

I woke up briefly at 4:45 am, stretched my feet lazily into the depths of the warm bed, and thought, "Mmmmm, Sunday...how delicious! A lovely long day to enjoy, Mass this afternoon, dinner and then early to bed...." I drowsily snuggled my head into my pillow and let my entire body sink back into oblivion.

And then I remembered. My eyes snapped open like old-fashioned roller blinds; my body stiffened, every synapse leaping like a drop of water on a hot griddle. Sunday? No, Monday. MONDAY. Monday in January! How many freaking Mondays come in the month of January? Because it seems like we've had at least eight of them and we're only, what? -- feverishly, I counted on my fingers and stifled a wail -- halfway through the month? The holidays, disappointing as they were, are over and done with and even though we spent the entire two weeks wheezing and hacking and taking one another's temperatures and passing around a snowman-shaped candy dish filled with zinc lozenges and cough drops, at least it was vacation.

I flopped over onto my pillows in despair. Why does there have to be a January? With all the cold and snow and ice and disappointment that there are no more presents or Christmas cookies to be offered (especially those peanut butter ones with the Hershey's kiss perched cheekily in the middle), it has absolutely nothing to recommend it.

I slumped downstairs and turned on the morning news, only to find that snow is expected today with an accumulation of possibly more than an inch. No sun at all, and the house is a cluttered mess from the weekend that makes me twitchy and miserable.

Mondays. Januarys. I must remember that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. In particular, I must remember that when I get to about five o'clock this afternoon and my desire to give someone a sharpish clout on the back of the head begins to overtake me. I'm told all mothers feel like this at five o'clock p.m. and that I should just relax and have a cup of tea, and I wish I knew who originally came up with that ridiculous notion, because I would like to give her a sharpish clout on the back of the head. Tea, indeed.