Hate Mondays. Always have. At 45 years of age, that’s a lotta Mondays. That’s a lotta hate. Time to change my tune and my ‘tude. And of course, as is often the case when I readjust the sails, it begins with taking a closer look at my kids. Cruising through Twitterland this morning, I spied the above graphic, and it gave me pause.
For some kids, Monday may very well be the best day of the week. It’s a day when they return to warmth and safety, a day when they get two square meals, a day when they get the full, I-care-about-you attention of an adult. Yes, they should get this from home. And most do, but not all. And while I think I know who these kids are in my class, the truth is I just don’t really know, so I need to assume that all need my caring affirmations, and that is how I need to approach all my kids, even on–especially on–Mondays when I am dealing with my own struggles to re-acclimate myself to my Monday-Friday environment. And so today–MONDAY–I will check my attitude at the door and be all that I can be for my kids. And so, too, on Friday I will be mindful of the fact that it may be the worst day of the week for some, and I will curb my out-loud enthusiasm for the week’s end. They need to know that I see them–coming and going. In truth, I’d like them to know that I always see them, even when they are not there.
Happy Monday, all. No, really, happy Monday. Happy Monday, happy Monday, happy Monday… just trying out my new mantra.