Oh, Monday. You got me this time.

by Katie on November 9, 2012

No better time to rehash a Monday than on a Friday, right?

Before I get into the nitty gritty though, I do have to express a little gratitude. Several months ago, Lola expressed that she wasn’t  big fan of morning coffee. Not one to tempt my fate and good fortune to that point, I very much heeded that warning sign and avoided it altogether for a little more than five months. Five. Months. For a girl who just truly enjoys that morning quiet time with her coffee. It’s not the caffeine I crave, it’s the ambiance a hot mug of coffee provides in a dark, cozy home before the rest of the world stirs. Perhaps one day my daughter will share this passion with me. At the time, she wasn’t having it. Anyway, fast forward to three weeks ago, and I was able to reintroduce hot, morning coffee to my daily routine. The only difference being I have to use some sort of creamer. Which in all my nine years of regular morning coffee drinking, I have not done. But I’ll take what I can get. I am merely thankful for the reintroduction of my morning mug.

That was quite the introduction for the following pictorial expression of how my Monday began, which should have been taken as an ominous sign:

spilled coffee My cup runneth over…

I know. How does one continue pouring creamer into her cup until coffee is escaping onto the floor before she quits pouring and stirring? I am still pondering the same thing.

So yeah, that’s how the day began.

Not long after this, I jumped into a hectic morning chasing down hay truck and squeeze drivers and coordinating people, hay, prices and loading of which is not normally under my command and very much out of my comfort zone. I was certain I was going to end up with Texas hay in Arkansas and Florida hay on the Mexican border. Of course, some of these issues were complete surprises we had not prepared for in advance, and my husband was mountain goating himself up the side of some cliff three hours north of the farm with unreliable communication abilities.

All of this effort ending up taking four hours to get one truck load of hay sent on its merry way down I-10. Not that we have anything else going on at all, you know, with the end of the year and tax season and all of those plans and preparations falling solely on the numbers I provide to my business partner and our accountant.

Also? I would be the six month pregnant girl who didn’t pack a lunch. So by the time I wrapped up my one-hour-turned-four job, I was racing home to my kitchen.

…Only to get to my locked front door and realize I did not have the keys. Luckily, I did have handheld Internet, and was able to search local locksmiths and begin placing calls. To which I found the first one unavailable for another three hours; the second one a 45 minute wait. Lovely. I went with number two, since he was the last one listed within the local radius, and resigned to sit outside my food-locked-inside house cleaning out my purse, where I was lucky enough the smallest apple I’ve ever purchased in my life and half a handful of trail mix. At least starving was no longer in the picture.

Soon enough, the locksmith arrived, and after I paid him $50 (you know, $10 for each minute of his services) to let me in my house, I was able to find a more satisfying meal and reflect on the fact that a slightly creepy looking dude reeking of cigarettes driving a big white van with the ability to pick locks now knew exactly where I lived. Not that I let that kind of thing keep me up at night or anything. (I wish.)

At this point, all I wanted was a nap. And now that it’s Friday and I’m five days past the remaining events of the day, the details are a little fuzzy. But I was very much glad to put it all behind me when my head hit the pillow that evening. You know, with thoughts of sugar plums and van-driving locksmith serial killers dancing in my head.



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