I know it goes against our cultural grain, but I love Mondays. If I can pick a single day of the week that I can guarantee will be consistently fantastic AND productive, it's a Monday. Everything is in order. I'm ready to jump right into my work. I accomplish my tasks quickly and efficiently so that I can jump right into play.
Of course, often work and play are barely distinguishable for me, so that makes it easy.
Munchkins #2 and #3 started out in the sandbox at about 10am yesterday. They were there, aside from the time spent running errands with me, until well after three o'clock in the afternoon. Once they shook the sand off and dried (the hose was going in the sandbox), they pulled apart the couch and made a runway. We watched an endless series of "fashion" shows. They built machines from the cushions and sold them to the highest bidder.
I love to listen to them when they get engrossed in imaginary play. I love being invited to examine their creations and I even love being given roles to play, now and then.
They collaborated until late into the evening when they fell into bed, apparently exhausted. I crawled into bed thinking about the way Mondays always feel so satisfying. And then I thought that maybe every day was this satisfying, it just strikes me especially on Mondays because I always have that Garfield picture in my head, "I hate Mondays."
Poor Garfield. What a way to live.
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