Monday Morning PTSD

The chaos which ensues on Monday morning must be put down in words so that in thirty years from now I can come back to this blog and remind myself why I'm so glad that my kids have moved out.


First of all, I don’t know what it is about Monday morning, but the kids are off their rocker. They wake up at 5:30 and proceed to jump, scream, push each other and throw things until the minute we walk out the door. Which, by the way, is an hour early because we’ve been up for so long and I, along with my neighbors, can’t take another minute of the hullaballoo.

When I return home after dropping off the kids, I actually feel some kind of PTSD. I sit amidst the utter chaos in total shock and disbelief and turn constantly at the imaginary sound of a kid still home, worried I might've missed one.

I think this must stage one of the five stages of grief because after shock definitely comes denial. I go on the computer, watch something and don't dare get up from my bed lest I catch sight of the giant pile of laundry threatening to overtake my bedroom or the numerous pieces of cut up paper strewn throughout my living room. I don't even get coffee. That would require me entering the filthy, cheerio-filled, kitchen which I refuse to deal with, dreaming wishfully of the cleaning lady that I will hire eventually to clean it. I told you- serious denial.

When I finally get up (cuz I'm starving, I've been up since 5:30), the denial turns to anger. Oh, I get angry at everyone in the whole world even if it's not related to the tornado in my house. My family for never putting their shoes away, my landlord for not fixing that stupid closet door, my mother for not calling me in a week, Hashem for not giving me lots of money and I get angriest at the cleaning lady who never shows up cuz she doesn't exist.

Following the anger is of course the bargaining. Only it's with myself. If I sort the laundry, start a load, and sweep all the floors, then I'm allowed to go to Winners and buy myself something. After I tidy for one hour, I can take a break and watch a show. I make deals with myself galore even though nobody else cares when and how I get it done as long as it's done. Then I cheat. Ok, so what if I just started the laundry, I deserve a break! Except, I'm only punishing myself. Which brings me to....

Acceptance. It finally settles on me. Positive musings ensue. This is it. The remnants of this long, fun-filled weekend are all mine. The mountain of laundry reminds me of the cute outfits my kids wore to the library Sunday morning. The dirty dishes are a souvenir of all the fun Shabbos meals and the Parsha questions, the songs and laughs which accompanied them. The one thousand toys which have been mixed together to form a giant toy salad, smile at me taking me back to the sound of my husband playing with my kids as I sat in bed, reading and drinking my coffee Shabbos morning. The smelly swimming stuff fill my heart with pride as I think of my daughter splashing joyfully in the pool. Every speck of dirt, every stinky sock, reminds me that this weekend we have lived! We have spent time together as a family! We have played together! Yes, there were fights and rain showers of confetti, and spillages of juices and shoes left all over but it wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t together, living life, spending it with each other. So I gather up energy and I face the fact that if I don’t clean up these memories, there will be no space to make new ones.

Then, I go to the mall and don’t buy myself one thing. I buy two or three or four because let’s face it, I worked like a dog and sure as heck deserve it.