Thank God it’s Friday. These words are on seemingly everyone’s lips and social media pages at the end of the work week. For me, the feelings that comes with the weekend are a little different.  It’s more of a “Batten down the hatches!  — Here we go again.” sort of thing. There is a level of crazy associated with the weekend in our house that makes me pretty happy that Monday is coming, especially on Sunday night.

During the day on Friday, I usually come up with a mental, and sometimes even written, list of the things I would like to get accomplished over the weekend.  It seems plausible that with everyone home to pitch in, we should be able to knock a few things of of the old to do list by Monday.  Many hands make light work and all that.   It sounds too good to be true, and it is.  At this point, if anything from this week’s list gets done this week, I am elated. There are so many variables in play.

First off, we have an infant. There’s not much more to be said. Infants are needy and not concerned for their own safety and as such must be watched closely at all times.  There are naps during which something may be accomplished as long as none of the other pitfalls of a house full of people arise. Fat chance.

Second, we have a Gigi. Autism is not a friend of the to do list.  Gigi is fun and crazy and we love her so much and if she ever sat down, even for a second, and stopped leaving destruction and puddles in her wake, we might get the Christmas lights down or the garage swept. She also needs full super vision at all times or next week’s list will be even longer.

Next, we have Rory, who is 13 and has an extensive social calendar. She has soccer and skiing and she always has a plan in the works before she gets home from her previous engagement. And since she is one of the possible responsible parties for keeping an eye on those who must be kept under surveillance, if Rory isn’t home, we are short staffed, ruling out both parents working on the list at the same time unless one of those magic naps occurs at the right moment.

To complicate matters, by the weekend our house is almost certainly devoid of food and  Gigi is bored silly and desperately wants to go somewhere.  She drives this point home by repeatedly fetching her father’s shoes and car keys and presenting him with said items. This usually results in a father/daughter grocery shopping trip. Necessary, but doesn’t get the closets cleaned.

Sunday morning, we try to make it to church. A large effort must be made to get us out the door on time. After church, everyone has their own agenda for what is left of the weekend and I try with limited success to not be annoyed by how few of my household hopes and dreams have been addressed this weekend. By evening, I start counting down to Gigi’s bedtime. A person can only say things so many times before having to resist the urge to run away screaming. “You just ate.” “You don’t need mac and cheese.”, “Get out of the sink.”, “You already had a bath.”, “If you don’t leave your iPad plugged in, it won’t work.”, “Sit down.”, “Stay here.”  You get the picture.   I love her dearly. Did I mention that? But, she can wear a person out. Actually, she could probably wear out three or four people.

Over time, Monday has almost become my Saturday. I have one child home with me and I get to use the day as I wish.  Usually, I spend most of it recovering the house from the weekend but I don’t mind because I get to see my progress, instead of feeling like I’m just spinning my wheels. Gigi gets a break from me too. I’m sure she tires of listening to me talk and school has more fun and exciting options than home. She is the one who is supposed to require a strict routine, but I think I may appreciate it twice as much and adapt half as well as she does to a change in the schedule.

By Friday, I am once again optimistic about the weekend.  As much as I wish we could get to some of the back burner projects, I know that spending time together is more important and in two days I will get to shout “Thank God it’s Monday!”  quietly, to myself.