Monday Mornings

I start on Sunday night.  First, I pack my jewelry.  Then, my clothes.  I try not to forget to put a towel into my gym bag.  And my makeup.

Everything else is already in there.  So, in a way, I've started long before Sunday.  Long before the weekend even arrived.

I should be ready for it at any time.

If I have a night of insomnia, it is likely to be Sunday night.  Even though I've forgotten all the things I dealt with during the week, worries start creeping back overnight.  When I wake, I tell myself to forget again.  Don't think about that!  I tell myself.  And then, Don't think!  At all.

I don't exercise on Sunday.  I work out pretty hard the other days, so I let my body rest that day.  I think that's part of why I don't sleep as well--I'm not as exhausted.

It doesn't matter whether I have screamers on my caseload or not.  The transition from home life to work life is hard to make.

I take a pill to help me.  But, on Sunday nights, I often still struggle.

In the morning, everything should go like clockwork.  I've already packed my gym bag, purse, and project bag.  I slip an orange, two hard-boiled eggs (done ahead) and a glass of milk into my lunch bag.  Also, my lunch, an apple, and possibly other snacks--more fruits or a vegetable leftover, or nuts.

This does not take me long.

I'm not sure, actually what takes me so long.  I try to get out of the house a half-hour after my alarm goes off, but it rarely happens.

This Monday morning, I was rinsed, dressed, packed, prepared, clipped back, and weighed.  I was ready to go.  I stood in the dark kitchen with my hands on the straps of my bags, and I had an epiphany.

Leaving my house on Monday mornings is the hardest thing I do.

Not because of work, really.  I like my job, and am grateful to have it.  When I can help a pregnant woman get an outfit to wear to interviews that isn't striped jeans and a polka-dotted shirt--her only clothing that will fit--or something like that that really makes a difference, it's downright fun.

Not because my first stop is the gym.  I long ago acclimated myself away from any thoughts of not going to the gym.  Honestly, even if I haven't slept well, I know that I will not sleep that last hour before work if I know I am missing my workout.  I can feel fat accumulating on my stomach and my muscles taking off on vacation.  And I can't sleep.  Not then.  Ever.

It should be easier to leave.  No one else is up.  No one is asking me to sign their homework or get them a drink of water.  There is no one to talk to.  Just me and the dark.  The easiest time to leave, I should think.

But it's not.

I don't usually hesitate as long as I did this Monday, having my epiphany.  (Epiphanies can take up time, I guess.)

Leaving at that time is totally my choice.  I wouldn't have it any other way.  But I feel the heaviness of my choices resting on me at that particular moment in the week.

What if someone wakes up sick?  Or from a nightmare?  What if someone needs something in the morning that she didn't think about before going to bed?  What if I miss one of the little boys saying something cute?  What if the power goes out, or there is some other kind of emergency?

How tempted I am to just stick around until my family gets up.  Just to make sure they are all right.  I would rather they all leave me and go their ways and leave me at home.  I could find plenty to do around here, just fine.

Chances are, that everything will be fine.  No one will need anything from me that their dad can't handle or they can't call me on the phone about.  Their clothes are all picked out.  Their homework should be done.  No disaster is lurking around the corner with the dawn.

But, I know if I wait, it will be even harder to leave them while they are talking to me, needing their hair done, making a fight with their brother.  I know if I don't get to the gym now, it ain't gonna happen.

I know in the back of my head that supporting my children is a big part of taking care of them.  That I need to stay fit in order to be here for the years and years that they will all still need me.  I know that whatever I do to take care of myself, I am also doing for them.

So, I heave up my bags, and leave.

The week stretches out ahead of me, long and uncertain.  But I have already tackled the hardest part.